#I think he's got to be. What's all that angst for

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[classyrbf]

DO I LOOK LIKE HIM! — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...all his life it was just him and his mother, his father nowhere to be seen or found, vanished, a ghost. No one ever spoke a word of him, he didn’t even know his name. But deep down he begs for answers as his mother always said that he looked just like ‘him’

INFO...megumi fushiguro x mom!reader, toji x fem!reader, angst angst angst, megs is 17, absent father, family trauma, young love, arguing, talks of pregnancy, talks of killing/assassination, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

based on: like him by tyler the creator

“Alright move closer into the photo—yep! Perfect!” Your mom held the camera up to her eye, slightly bending down. “Alright, three…two…one!” She snapped the photo, smiling as she looked at you and Toji.

It was Megumi’s first birthday, friends and family surrounding to celebrate. Endless gifts and food, music playing over the speakers. Small children ran around the yard, infectious laughter filling the air. The sun shined brightly, not a cloud in the sky. You were happy. Toji held Megumi tight in arm, looking down at the baby with a full head of jet black hair.

You and Toji had met in high school, falling for each other in an instant. You were captivated by his silent and mysterious presence and Toji was capture by your smile and the way your eyes shined in the light. But neither of you expected to end up with a baby boy just two years later after graduation. Not a single moment was regretted. You wouldn’t trade this for the world.

“Happy birthday, little man,” he scoffed, holding Megumi above his head. He babbled, giggling as he chewed on his chubby fingers, smiling at his father with love in his eyes.

“I can’t wait to frame this one. You guys look so cute.” Your mom pouted, walking back into the house to put the camera away.

A soft smile spread across your face, holding onto Toji’s arm. “Did you ever think you’d become a dad?” You suddenly asked, watching as your baby played with the fabric of his shirt.

Toji turned towards you, a confused look on his face. “No, but…I’m happy I did. You know I’d do anything for you two.” Toji pulled you in by your waist. “Did you ever think you’d become a mom?”

You shook your head, reaching a hand out to move hair out Megumi’s face. “It’s just weird. We were so young, you know? We still are. But, it feels right.” You rested your heard on his shoulder, letting out a small sigh. A small laugh erupted from your chest, “I carry him for nine months and he came out looking exactly like you.”

“What can I say? I got strong genes, baby.” He nudges you slightly, teasing.

“Oh, hush. I did all the work.” You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m only messing with you.” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “Go on, give mama a kiss, little man.” He holds Megumi towards you. As if on cue, he leans his head down and places his slobbery mouth on your forehead. “There you go! Good job!” He chuckles, smiling at his son. “I can’t wait until you’re older so I can teach you about all sorts of things.” Megumi grabs ahold of Toji’s finger in his small palm, squeezing it. “Gonna teach you all types of sports, how to fight so you can protect mommy. I bet you’ll be a good baseball player.” Megumi squeals at Toji. “Baseball? Yeah? Alright, baseball it is.” He kisses his cheek.

You stand there, admiring your two favorite boys. It’s like you see the future when you look at them. A happy life, a cozy home. Maybe even a sibling for Megumi. A ring on your finger, happily married. Thinking of the days when Megumi starts going to school and brings back all his little projects so you can put them in a box and keep them for the future. You already had so much planned at such a young age, but you were determined to fight for it. For him. For your son.

Megumi sits on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. The ceiling fan provides a low hum as it spins. He stares at the wilted paper in his hand, a handwritten note to him—one he’s never seen until now. His chest feels tight, tears welling in his eyes as he reads who it’s from over and over again.

—Your Dad

It feels like he can’t breathe, anger swirling through him. He thinks of all those times you dismissed his questions and conversations about his father—whoever his father was. And now, he was holding a note from him that was written fifteen years ago. A note of how sorry he is and nothing else. A man of few words. No explanation, nothing.

Growing up, Megumi learned from a young age that he looked just like ‘him’. His grandmother and grandfather always slipping up, staring at him like a ghost had just walked in the room. It only got worse as he grew older, starting growing into his features. You even began to stare at him, a look of sadness in your eyes. He never would say anything, always keeping his mouth shut like he didn’t notice. Not once, did you ever speak of his father. Hell, he didn’t even know his name or what he looked like, but from what he’s been told, he probably looks like an older version of him.

All those days, watching fathers bond with their sons, his friends dads coming to sports games, school events, he always felt like deep down something was missing. He felt different. Every Father’s Day, being tasked to make something special in school for their fathers, but how is a nine year old supposed to say he doesn’t have one? How is a thirteen year old supposed to participate in the father-son day at school when he doesn’t have one? How is a seventeen year old supposed to feel when he sees everyone posting their dads on social media, a heartfelt message written with each one, yet he doesn’t even have a photograph to remember him by?

Tears fall on the paper and the hurt that he held back is now manifesting. Why was so hard for you to say anything about him? Was he dead? Is that why it was so hard? Yet, there was no excuse. Whatever it was, he needed to know why he left. Why he was so sorry. It wasn’t until he heard the front door open, your calming voice calling out to him.

“Megs, I’m home!” You shut the door, placing your bag on the countertop.

The door to his bedroom swung open, fresh tears still on his cheeks, the wrinkled note gripped in his hand. He stomped towards you. “What is this?” His nostrils flared.

A crease between your brows formed, noticing the distressed look on his face before your eyes landed on what he was holding. You felt your heart drop, your mouth falling open to say something, anything, but nothing came out. “Meg—”

“What is this? Huh?! I found it in the back of your drawer! A note from my dad!” He slammed the paper down. “Who is he?! Why did he leave?!” He was screaming, his anger pouring out through his words. “You never talk about him! No one does!” He throws his hands up. “You kept…you fucking kept this from me! Fifteen years!” Hot tears spill from his eyes.

Your eyes widen, your lip quivering as you hold back tears. “I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks. “I’ve been wanting to tell you—”

“When? When, mom?! I don’t even know his fucking name! I don’t know what he looks like! There’s not a single picture in this house of him? Is he even alive?!” The look in his eyes makes you want to break down. You knew this day would come sooner or later, but you never expected it to turn out this way. The note. Of course it was the note. Almost like it was fate.

You inhaled deeply, licking your lips as tears fall. “I’m sorry, baby. I just…”

“Why can’t you tell me?” He speaks softly, voice wavering. “I see it in your face. Everyday when you look at me…you can see him. Who is my dad?” He clenches his jaw, letting out a shaky breath. “Why did he leave us? Why did he leave me?” He questions before fully breaking down into tears, sobbing.

“No,no,” you whisper, taking him in your arms. His tears soak through the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you like his life depends on it. “It’s not your fault, baby? You hear me? It’s not his, not yours. It’s complicated.” As you stand there with him in your arms, flashbacks of that night Toji left flood your brain.

“Then where is he? Is he dead?” Megumi asks, raising his head to look at you. The question makes you freeze up, biting on your bottom lip so hard you’re sure to draw blood. “Is he dead, mom?” He stands up straight, wiping his tears.

“I…I don’t know,” you sniffle, shrugging your shoulders. You shake your head as you look at your son, feeling so ashamed and embarrassed. So hurt and disgusted. “He loved you so much, Megumi. I promise you.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? If he loved me, he wouldn’t have left!” He shouted in anger. “Who is he?! Just tell me!” He pleads through his cries.

“His name was Toji. Toji Fushiguro.” You stare at him. “Me and your father met young, back in high school. We had you two years after we graduated. We were so scared. Well, I was scared, but your father was ready. He was so excited,” you chuckle, remembering when you first told him you were pregnant. “He loved you, Megumi. And that’s the exact reason why he left,” you explain.

He shakes his head at you. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Your father did everything he could to provide for me and you. You were his everything. His little man. But, he got caught up with the wrong people trying to find ways to make quick money. He was young and desperate, we both were.” Your eyes flutter shut, letting out a sigh. “What your father did for money…you wouldn’t think he was a good man. He made enemies—”

“Mom, what are you saying?! I’m not a kid anymore! Just tell me—”

“He killed people, Megumi! Is that what you wanna hear! He fucking killed people just so he could put food on the table! Fuck!” You hurriedly stand to your feet, looking away from him.

“What…?” He nearly said in a whisper.

“I don’t want you to think he wasn’t a good man, Megs. I don’t want you think he hated you or me. He didn’t. But what he was doing put him and us in danger. He realized that and he left. He couldn’t put us in danger, especially you. That night he left he wrote you this.” You grabbed the note off the counter. “I begged him to stay, baby. I did. I tried. I tried everything.” Megumi sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly ahead of his as he took all this information in. “He never stopped loving you, Megs. He never wanted to leave.”

He slowly turned to look at you, his chest heaving up and down. His eyes were red and glossy from crying. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, baby. He never told me.” You shook your head. He sobbed softly, holding his head in his hands. You walked over, sitting beside him and pulled him into your arms. “Don’t hate him,” you whispered. “He’d be so proud of the man you became. Such a sweet, strong, and smart boy.”

“When did he leave?” Megumi asked.

“A week after your second birthday,” you spoke, biting at the skin on your lip. “He told me you were the best thing to ever happen to him.” You wipe away his tears as they continue to fall. “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just done bad things.”

Now knowing what happened to his father, Megumi felt like his whole world came crashing down. What his father did, who he was. How he came to be. And as much resentment as he holds, he can’t bring himself to hate him. In a way, he understands, but at the same time he doesn’t. He wonders how different things would be if he was here. What life would be Ike. “I’m sorry, mom,” he cried.

“Don’t be, baby. I’m sorry for keeping from you for so long. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to think he was a bad man. I was scared.” You continue to hold him in your arms, consoling him.

“What does he look like?” He asks.

You smile, looking down at him. “You guys are damn near twins.”

Megumi chuckles a little, “I figured.”

“Wait there a moment.” He watches as slip into your bedroom, a few second passing by before you walk out with something in your hands. “Here.”

Megumi looks down, seeing the array of photos you hold on your hands and hesitates on taking them from you. You sit beside him as he grabs them and looks at the first one. “Is that him and you?” He asks, never taking his eyes off the photo.

“Back in high school.” It was one of the first few photos you and Toji ever took together. A picture at the homecoming dance, a plain look on his face while you had a wide smile on your face. “Your father barely ever smiled. But when you came around, he couldn’t stop.”

Megumi was struck. He really did look like him. From the hair, to the eyes, to the nose. Everything. He looked at the next photo. You were pregnant, Toji holding your belly while kissing your cheek. “You guys looked really happy,” he says.

“Of course we were. Me and your dad loved each other very much. I still love him.” Megumi looks over at you as you say those last words. You still hold so much hope and love in your heart and that tells him maybe he should let this resentment for his father go. Maybe it was time to move on.

“Was this my birthday?” He questions, looking at the family photo your mother took of you three that day. He could see a faint smile on his father’s face, looking at the way Toji held him so close in his arms.

“Your very first birthday. So many good memories. Despite the fact you threw up on your dad’s shirt,” you laughed.

“Really?!” Megumi smiles. You nod, still giggling. “Yikes, he must’ve been pissed.”

“At first he was mad, but then saw you started crying after and felt horrible. I remember his exact words, ‘Stop crying, little man. You can throw up on this shirt a thousand times if you want to.’ He could never stay mad at you.” You brush his cheek, watching his smile get wider and wider.

He finally gets to the last picture. One you took of Toji asleep with Megumi on his chest. “I took that picture after it took him three hours to get you to sleep. You didn’t want to sleep in your crib, kept crying and crying and finally your father just fell asleep with you on his chest.” You watch as he runs his thumb over the picture, observing it more than he did the other ones. “You can keep it if you want.”

“Really?” He glanced at you, a desperate look in his eye.

“Of course.” You kissed his cheek. “I have more we can look at later.”

Megumi nods. There’s a moment of silence as he sits and goes through the pictures again, almost like he’s reliving memories he had no recollection of. “So, you really don’t know if he’s alive or not?”

You shake your head. “Like I said, what your father did caused him to get caught up with the wrong people, making enemies out of anyone. He was never scared of them, of course. But he knew if they ever found out about you or me, it wouldn’t end well.,” you explained. “I wish I knew.”

“Is it weird that I miss him?” He turned towards you, confused. “How can I miss someone I don’t even remember?” His eyes became teary.

“Oh, Megs.” You wiped his tears. “It’s not weird at all, sweetheart. I’m sure he misses you too. A whole lot.” You give him a sad smile.

He sniffles, looking down at the pictures. It was like he finally felt this weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. After years of this gut wrenching feeling, he finally knows the truth. His father did love you. Love him. He no longer felt casted aside. And that feeling gave him hope that maybe he’s still out there, still alive.

[ikeuverse]

DUAL LIFE — s.jaeyun

PAIRING: mafiaboss!jake x fem!reader  GENRES: smut, angst, slight fluff WC: 10.8k+

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of drugs and illicit things, mafia stuff, jake implicitly jealous, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected sex (do it safely, please). lmk if i missed anything else.

SYNOPSIS: being a serious and respected businessman was the only side of him that jaeyun wanted you to know, afraid that he would let you into his life and, over time, you would get to know not only sim jaeyun, but also sim jake, the mafia boss.

NOTES: idk how, but i thought about it for a day and just wrote it down. i let my mind run wild and wanted something completely different for jake, so here it is. i hope you like it!

masterlist

The corporate environment could be challenging and misogynistic when a woman holds a position of great power. At first, the fear hit you hard when your name was molded onto a plaque and, below it, the title of the boss was stamped. But alongside all this, you found yourself supported by your colleague and partner Sim Jaeyun. The first man who saw you with respect, who treated you like a boss and a partner, who handed you demands with the same intensity as he handed demands to other men in the company.

He was incredible when he signed the contract to share that company with you. And it was a good deal because once your name was linked to Jaeyun's, everything inside that building seemed to be moving perfectly toward success. Numbers and shares grew faster and faster, and meetings were shared late into the night where you and Jaeyun reviewed what you had done so far, whether you needed to change any strategies in your approaches, and how you two could take the next step.

You were surprised every time because even though he was there for everything, his word was always final. Jaeyun seemed to want your approval even if his vision was the opposite of yours. It was as if your permission was worth more than his, even though you saw him think for a while before making any decisions. Carefully and cautiously when he asked you about shares and employees, about investments, and what he should do, he was careful and very intelligent, but in his view, you were so much more. So having your approval before his was more important.

This meant that the two of you shared more time than necessary, apart from being in the office. Jaeyun constantly calls you to have dinner and go over some papers when, in reality, the two of you did everything but go over papers. Or when he called you for coffee in the middle of the day to de-stress from an annoying client in question, you gladly accepted because the combination of his company and a hot coffee was all you needed after a moment like that.

What started as routine things became a little different when Jaeyun became warmer towards you at work. It was hard to tell at first since he was always very professional and the looks you got from him were either approving ones or small smiles after a good idea in the corporate environment. You never noticed anything more than that. Until that moment. Where he made a point of touching your hand when he sat next to you, reaching for your pen while he was resting on the other side. Or when Jaeyun would gently rest his hand on your lower back so that you would enter the rooms before him as if he would lose sight of you at any moment even though the room was quite large and there was no way he could lose sight of you.

Dinners no longer had the excuse of work stuff, Jaeyun just wanted to go out and talk to you about everything other than shares, money, and boring investors. He wanted to know more about you, he wanted to hear you tell stories and he wanted to share his too. However, in this respect, you could feel him wavering a little as if he was afraid to talk about something he shouldn't have.

In your mind, Jaeyun had something difficult he was dealing with, so he tended to be more reserved about it, but you learned enough about him as the dinners became weekly. Every detail about his life – which he managed to share with you – and every quirk you picked up on as the two of you spent more time together. Jaeyun was a little box of surprises that you were trying to unravel little by little.

But as things naturally grew closer between you and him, something about the boy's behavior caught your attention. From time to time Jaeyun seemed more scattered at meetings, as if his mind was anywhere but on the words of an old, gray-haired man talking about work. Or how dinners between the two of you became the company cafeteria, him refusing – politely – to go out with you with the excuse that he was too tired. But at the same time, he didn't want to break his silent promise that you and he would share a meal at least once a week.

That didn't bother you, after all, you still had his company even if the dishes varied from pasta with fancy sauce to ramen that he asked an employee to pick up at the corner convenience store. That wasn't so important, at least Jaeyun was sitting in front of you with a faint smile and talking about how hard his day had been and how he wanted to go home and be with his dog.

Everything changed that night. You did everything in your routine, working tirelessly in your office while receiving a few emails from Jaeyun to line up a thing here and there. Answering a few calls and dealing with the staff as best you could. After you finished work, you just wanted to be in the cafeteria and try another flavor of ramen that Jaeyun had bought, claiming that you would love it. Your mouth was already starting to salivate because you knew he could find the most unusual flavors, always impressing you with the smallest things.

But your heart sank when the door to your living room opened, revealing Jaeyun and a grocery bag. Everything happened slowly before your eyes, even though the scene itself was so fast.

“I can't stay today” Jaeyun's voice snapped you out of your reverie, the bag placed on your desk while his hands were now hidden inside the tailored pants he was wearing.

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, trying not to sound disappointed enough for him to see that he had messed with you.

But what you didn't know was that Jaeyun knew you as well as you knew yourself. Your every expression, tone of voice, everything. He knew exactly how you felt, perhaps because he was the same way, but also because he watched you too much.

“Some personal problems” he sighed softly, looking away from the bag to you “I brought you the ramen, so you can try it and tell me what you think.”

Jaeyun tried to smile to lighten the mood, taking his hands out of his pockets to fiddle with the bag and take out the bowl, showing you the new flavor he'd found. You bit your lower lip to keep from letting out a sigh or saying something you shouldn't have. Your heart was strangely bothered by it.

“It's no fun without you, Jaeyun” was the most you could say without sounding desperate or showing too much.

He felt the weight of everything fall on him as his eyes fell to the pot of ramen, seeing a spark of sadness shine in your eyes as your hands touched his and took the pot from his hand. Putting it back in the bag, you closed it and pushed it towards him.

“I—” Jaeyun turned away from your table, not wanting the ramen packets back “I'm sorry, Y/n. I really have to go.”

“Jaeyun—”

He was afraid that if he heard you say anything, he'd stay for dinner with you. That's what he wanted most. But he couldn't. Jaeyun had to leave as soon as possible before everything went to shit. So, just as quickly as he entered your office, he left and closed the door before he heard anything else come out of your mouth.

You stood there at your desk, staring at the bag that had been left there. It was the first night since you two started eating together that he didn't stay. The first night that Jaeyun barely looked at you before saying goodbye. He didn't even touch your hand as he did when he picked you up for dinner or coffee. He was so distant that it seemed like you didn't recognize him.

Meanwhile, Jaeyun was racing against time to try to balance the double life he was leading. Getting involved with you wasn't in his plans, not least because corporate life was just a façade for him, so the moment he found himself nurturing any feelings for you, he knew he was screwed. Jaeyun couldn't fall in love, but he also couldn't help feeling it when everything seemed natural when he was with you. Your presence made him forget all the bad things he experienced outside that office. That is there he was Sim Jaeyun, your partner and someone who was slowly taking over your heart.

But unfortunately, that couldn't be forever and he knew it. Leaving the elevator and walking hurriedly to his car, he took off his jacket and threw it on the passenger seat, the place where you had sat countless times in your work clothes as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen in his life. That symbolic place belonged to you, even if he didn't want to admit it. Jaeyun let his head fall back against the steering wheel of the car, uttering swear words that he remembered and that made his body explode with rage.

He wanted to be Sim Jaeyun forever. Your partner, the man who was slowly making you fall in love.

But leaving there he was Jake, one of the mob bosses who was now rushing to help his friends with new charges and problems coming up.

The sound of his fingers drumming on the marble of the table was a little louder than usual. Jaeyun tried hard not to show how annoyed – and angry – he was to be there that night. He knew it would be impossible to hide from his friends how much he disliked being there, but at the same time, he couldn't forget what an authority figure he was there too.

“Are you in a bad mood?” he heard Sunghoon's voice cut through the air, entering the room with all the grace he had compared to the other boys. Jaeyun sighed, stopping his drumming to slide his hand to the glass in front of him and drink all the liquid it contained. He wasn't sure what it was, but he would thank Heeseung later for putting in the highest alcohol content he could find.

“Don't tease me, Park” he replied after feeling the burning go down his throat.

Sunghoon laughed a little and sat down next to Heeseung, facing Jaeyun.

“I asked you a question, bro” he said, “Why are you in such a bad mood? Jay and San have already managed to corner those idiots and take what they tried to steal from us.”

Looking at it that way, Jaeyun could be relieved. Smuggling drugs wasn't something he was proud of doing, but he knew how respected he was for carrying on his father's work as well as he would have liked. At the time, Sim wished he hadn't been so good and just stuck to executive work, without getting involved with the family mafia. But he knew how much confidence his late father had and how much he wanted Jaeyun to take over.

“I know, it's just—”

“He's mad because we ruined his date with his girlfriend” Heeseung winked at Sunghoon, who quickly understood everything.

“Shit, tonight was the night of your romantic dinner.”

“It's not a romantic dinner” Jaeyun tried to make amends.

“I told us not to call him, damn it, Heeseung” Sunghoon pretended to be angry, knowing that there was no way not to call Jaeyun. This was of a gigantic magnitude and even though the two of them were his right-hand man, they couldn't make decisions without consulting him first. A form of respect for their best friend, who had taken them in even after taking on a dangerous and important position.

“What did you want me to do?” Heeseung tried to defend himself, sliding down the back of the chair and running one hand through his hair “They tried to rob us” he continued “My only thought was to run to the shed and stop it, but I couldn't do that without Jake's approval.”

Jaeyun listened intently as the conversation unfolded in front of him. Heeseung and Sunghoon knew that they had complete freedom when it came to any decision, especially if Jaeyun was playing the role of partner in a big company. Wearing a suit and tie, expensive tailoring, and with you by his side. It was a persona he wanted to maintain, even though reality hit him every time he received a call from his best friends informing him of something concerning his second job.

He ran a hand through his hair, the sting of the drink gradually fading from his throat as he looked at the two boys still talking.

An absurd urge to disappear and leave the business to the two of them, to run to the office because Jaeyun knew you'd still be there working, eating the ramen he'd left for you. A strange tightness in his chest made him sigh. He had left you alone for the first time after everything had happened. It wasn't because he wanted to, but Jaeyun was afraid of involving you in the second life he was leading. He didn't want to put you in danger, make you go out to dinner with glances lingering between the two of you.

That life brought Jaeyun and his friends a lot of good things, but just as many bad things. He walked around with plainclothes security guards all the time, but it wasn't as if he could do that for you without your permission. It would be handed to him on a plate to tell you about his life in the mafia because on what pretext would Jaeyun say he wanted to offer you private security? It wasn't as if it was necessary for the life of a company boss. No one would want to hurt you for that. So with his lack of creativity in coming up with an excuse, he found himself doing the one thing he didn't want to do: hide you.

Dinner in the company cafeteria was safer than parading around with you by his side, even though it was the only thing he wanted at that moment more than anything. Holding your hand again with the excuse that the restaurant was full and he didn't want to let you out of his sight. That may have been true, but a large part of it was because he was worried that someone in disguise might harm you.

Jaeyun had declared enemies and he knew what some were capable of. Anything could be done against him, but no one should lay a finger on you.

“Jake!” Heeseung's shout brought him out of his thoughts quickly, blinking hard to regain awareness that he'd been immersed in his thoughts for too long “Dude, do you have her on your mind again?”

“At least disguise it” Sunghoon muttered.

“I think I'm going to shoot your ass, you idiot” Jaeyun pointed at his friend, getting up from his chair.

“Calm down man, I'm kidding” he said “Messing with her really puts you in a bad mood.”

Jaeyun ignored it because he had no way of refuting it. He realized that everything that involved him made his nerves frayed and his feelings more acute. It wasn't as if he could control what he felt. If he could, Jaeyun would have chosen not to involve any feelings because he wanted to protect you. But the next thing he knew, any little detail about you made him lose his mind. He wanted to keep you close, he wanted to feel you, he wanted to have you even if it meant risking everything.

A remnant of conscience made him keep his touches a little simpler, although he felt the absurd urge to grab your waist and feel your lips pressed to his.

“I'm going to check what Jay's got so far” Heeseung got up too, passing the seats and going around the table to leave the room “Any news I'll let you two know, so keep an eye on the phones” and left.

Now with Sunghoon being the only presence in the room besides him, Jaeyun felt the weight of everything almost crush him. His friend's gaze almost pierced his insides because he knew how Sim felt. Sunghoon had a better view of Jaeyun's feelings than the other two.

“Sit down” he said when he saw his best friend lost in thought, barely able to utter a word apart from opening and closing his mouth a few times. Obeying, Jaeyun sat back in his chair “What's going on?”

What about? He wanted to ask but knew it was a waste of time. There was nothing Park Sunghoon couldn't figure out. So the other just sighed, leaning back even further in his chair and closing his eyes.

“I shouldn't have liked her in the first place” it was almost natural to let it out, as if he wanted Sunghoon to hear those words “Things should be professional, I should just focus on the actions and nothing else. Then go back home, deal with the mafia problems my father left behind, and later think about marrying the daughter of some other mafia boss.”

“Better than marrying Y/n?” Sunghoon asked.

It was strange that his best friends spoke your name. This was proof that the two worlds Jaeyun lived in were colliding. Then he opened his eyes, wanting to scream out everything that had been squeezing his chest for the last few hours.

“That's what happened to my father, I just—”

“It doesn't have to happen to you” Sunghoon interrupted him with a certain kindness, although there was none in his tone. He still looked at his best friend as he said each word with deep sincerity “You fell in love with her and you have to go with that. Make Y/n part of your life like Sim Jaeyun and—”

“Don't even finish it” it was his turn to interrupt him “I would never bring her to meet Jake Sim.”

“But if you two got engaged, sooner or later she'd find out about the double life you lead, man” Jaeyun hated how certain Sunghoon seemed about anything. He was the most rational when it came to work and personal life and always had the best advice. He was responsible for not letting any of his three best friends commit any kind of madness.

“This can't happen” his hands ran frantically through his hair, messing up every strand that Jaeyun managed to get his fingers through. He wanted to pull them out of his head in a moment of small sanity but came back to reality when he heard Sunghoon's voice next.

“Maybe you don't need to tell her at first, but it might make Jaeyun's life a little more enjoyable” he said calmly, “You really are falling for her, we can see that.”

We. Jaeyun had always been good at hiding his feelings, from the prettiest to the worst, from his friends. Or so he thought since he had to swallow so much just to make his father proud and be where he was at that moment. Bringing Sunghoon, Jongseong, and Heeseung with him was a baggage of confidence and a remnant of the normal life he had before getting involved in the family business. The only three people in his circle who knew everything, who never judged him, and were always there for Jaeyun. The best childhood friends who stuck together, and that in itself made them get to know more about each other every day.

That's why the three of you could see Jaeyun slowly falling in love with you. Although the words never left his mouth, the way he talked about you could already be deduced from afar. The sparkle in his eyes when he opened a message from you on the meeting table in the room as Jake Sim. The spark of a feeling emerged as he replied sweetly. When the boys attended a company dinner as fake investors, talking to you about the profit they could generate for your and Jaeyun's company. The reality was that they were there at Sim's request to check if anyone was a possible suspected smuggler or rival since his name had been talked about so much in the city at the famous dinner. He was afraid of someone showing up and ruining the double life he had fought so hard to hide.

It was the first and only time the three of them had met and talked to you, but it was enough to see the way Jaeyun looked at you. How he behaved next to you and the tired sighs he released throughout the night as each man approached you. Before, your name was a legend to them, Sim Jaeyun's lousy partner in the company, but when they saw you in person, it all seemed to make sense.

Now we know why Jake fell in love so easily, Heeseung almost lost his teeth when he made that comment inside the shed, after counting out three hundred and eight suitcases of cash. Payment for the container of drugs they had distributed. Jongseong was in charge of separating his best friend so that he wouldn't beat Heeseung to a pulp, while Sunghoon calmly intervened.

Everything went so slowly until he realized that he had fallen too hard for you. In the feelings he was having for you.

“What can I do about it now?” Jaeyun finally looked at Sunghoon, really looked at him. Looking for an answer and no longer wanting to run away from what mattered at that moment.

“How about making amends and asking her to dinner?” he asked.

“I don't want to go out with her and be seen— You know, I don't know who might be following me…”

“Come on Jake, how many men do you have doing security for your dead father's mafia?” he glared at his friend, always teased by the way Jaeyun didn't like to say that it was all his now. It would be easier to say that it still belonged to his late father, that all those men followed the command of Mr. Sim, to whom Jaeyun gave his voice. He didn't like to be called boss, although it happened at the teasing of his friends.

“Many” Jaeyun answered him.

“Then put them in charge of her security once a week” Sunghoon swiveled in his chair, his eyes never leaving Jaeyun's for a second “We have enough men to put in one a week without her noticing, and you'll still be able to go out with her in peace.”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment. He didn't want to be awkward about mentioning to you that men were escorting you for your safety, after all, he was afraid that something would happen to you even if the two of you had no involvement whatsoever.

“That's a very good idea, Hoon, but—”

“There's no such thing, you know it's the only way if you want to have something with her.”

For a while longer he seemed to think about the possibility. It wasn't as if Jaeyun was hiding something terrible from you, not least because he would be looking out for your safety. He'd also be freer to go out with you again for the dinners you two shared during the weeks.

“Not to mention that if you and she start dating, the security will be doubled, don't you think?” Sunghoon stood up from his chair “Everyone will know about her if something gets serious.”

That was Jaeyun's fear, that everyone would know about you besides him and his best friends. In that world where he was Jake Sim, there was no way anything could be hidden. It wasn't like the world where Jaeyun could get away with it under an expensive suit and a lot of stock. He sighed heavily, throwing his head back without the strength to continue the conversation. Knowing how right his best friend was.

“Right, thanks for the advice, anyway” Jaeyun asked.

“At your service” Sunghoon smiled “Are you going to stay there now? I'll check on Heeseung if Jay needs any help too…”

“I'll stay a while longer, I'll be going soon” he said, still sitting down because his body seemed to be weighed down by the barrage of information and advice thrown at him in such a short space of time.

Sunghoon walked to the door of the room, opened it, and turned to Jaeyun with a playful, silly smile on his face.

“Yes sir, boss” giving a mock salute, he ran off before Jaeyun could gather up a load of papers to throw in his direction, but Sunghoon was quick to close the door. Not before hearing the other swear at him for his provocations.

Jaeyun got to know you little by little, his first impression being of you as a strong and fearless woman. Someone he could easily work with among the men who underestimated you and who made him feel angry. Little by little, he noticed how easy it was to live with you and how you could read between the lines when things were happening. He was surprised when he started to notice the moment you felt uncomfortable in a meeting or in the presence of a man who tried to put you down, or how he could understand how bothered and angry you were with some stupid comment or action that had gone wrong.

Over time, he realized that he knew a lot about you just by interacting with you professionally. But when he decided to take a step and invite you to dinner, under the pretext of reviewing something from work, Jaeyun knew he was ruined. He knew that the first sincere smile you gave him had ruined and torn down any barrier he had built over the years in an attempt to not bring anyone into the dark and double world of his life. Jaeyun didn't want you to be a part of that.

So trying to push you away and keep you safe was the first and only thought he had, swallowing the physical and carnal desire that consumed him for wanting to have you in his arms. He couldn't afford to make the mistake of going around glimpsing you and your beauty, enjoying life as a couple that he knew was dangerous.

Sim Jaeyun was a good man, but Sim Jake was the opposite of that. And between the two personas he found himself divided on what to do because he knew that in both his lives, he was in love with you. It was the only thing he couldn't separate.

He knew it was too late to try to make Sunghoon's advice count for anything. Arriving at the office the next day, Jaeyun knew he had screwed up when he saw the bag of ramen on his desk, the two untouched pots very well placed next to the papers he needed to fill out during the day. What surprised him was the way you treated him throughout the week.

Professionalism took over again and you were the Y/n he had met when he joined that company and took on the role of being his partner. He saw the old woman with whom he had shared the management of that building and whom he had always admired – later he had fallen in love – and now he was back to the beginning. At least you, because he felt that he was falling more and more into your charms and letting his feelings take over.

It wasn't easy that you were monosyllabic in meetings, your gaze never meeting his, and every time you both needed to talk about any decision, you said you were busy and asked Jaeyun to talk to your secretary. You were running away, he knew that. So it could only mean that, besides being upset about him leaving you that night, something told you that you also had feelings for him.

Because no one would be upset about canceling a dinner. Even with the shitty excuse he gave you, if neither of you had feelings for each other, Jaeyun wouldn't have been frustrated to get Heeseung's call that night and you wouldn't have been upset to see him leave without even eating with you and then leaving.

It was a silent competition of who was handling it the worst way possible.

But he didn't know that jealousy was being added to the mix when he saw a new investor smile at you. How bold he was to approach you after the meeting, in the coffee room, and ask if you wanted to go out for something to eat.

I've seen this happen before, idiot. Don't even try. That's what he hoped the look would convey, but Jaeyun forgot that you hadn't looked in his direction for a few days, trying to ignore him as best you could. That's why you accepted the invitation. A little hesitantly because it had never happened before, other than Jaeyun, it was the first time that any man inside that building had invited you for something other than your partner. At that moment, after so many days, you looked in his direction, afraid of what you might feel when your eyes met. But seeing the discomfort on Sim's face seemed to give you some satisfaction.

“I still have a few more things to take care of, so—” the man extended a hand to you, gently holding yours. His touch was gentle and you tried to smile a little wider, looking away from Jaeyun to the boy in front of you “Do you mind meeting at the restaurant on the corner in half an hour?”

“No. It’s okay” you replied, feeling him squeeze your hand and lean in to kiss your torso, pulling away and letting go of your hand. He smiled at you once more, returning to the circle of men that was in the other corner of the room to say goodbye and do what he had to do.

You thought you should chat with your employees after a meeting, have some coffee like you always did, and then go to your office. But Jaeyun’s gaze was starting to make you feel strange. He didn’t miss a single movement of yours, from the moment you moved to get a cup of coffee to when you approached your secretary to whisper to him.

“I’m going to my office” you said quietly, not wanting to make a fuss with anyone. “I’ll be leaving for dinner soon, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am” he smiled at you, looking away to Jaeyun and swallowing hard. Your secretary had always been a bit wary of the man who was staring at you, but since there had never been any disagreements, that was passed on as he showed himself to be completely professional.

Jaeyun had never felt jealous until this moment, watching you gracefully leave the room and close the door.

It was all his fault and the idiotic way he tried to push you away even though he wanted to keep you close. Now, not knowing how to act, Jaeyun had to witness that scoundrel of someone asking you out and, worst of all, you accept it.

Something settled inside him and, without measuring any effort, he walked out the door quickly to your office. His mind had never worked well under pressure, whether from anger or jealousy like it was now. Jaeyun had never been jealous, after all, he had never met anyone who aroused that kind of feeling in him. It was like an urban legend or only hearing about the romantic stories that Jongseong and Sunghoon had here and there. But he had never felt that in his life.

When he stopped in front of your office door, his heartbeat almost rose to his ears as adrenaline and anxiety ran through him. Jaeyun didn't know how he would act after finding you in your office and confronting you. He knew something would happen, you could feel the tension in the air every time the two of you were in the same room, he just didn't know how intense it was. He had a slight impression, but he couldn't decipher you from that yet.

He decided not to knock, gripping the door handle and turning around without beating around the bush, entering right away before you could say anything else.

“What—” you quickly turned around from the table, where you had been facing away until then, packing your things and ready to leave. Your heart almost jumped out of your mouth at the sight of Jaeyun standing in the middle of your living room. The thud of the door as it closed went unnoticed by your ears and the only sound was your own racing heart. “Jaeyun?”

He approached slowly, one step at a time as he thought about what to say or how to act. You could tell how fast his chest was rising and falling due to the rapid breathing from the fright he had gotten seconds ago.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to stay calm as he continued to approach. The steps stopped just a few inches away when he cornered you between his body and your table, making your body almost bend over if it weren’t for your hands being quick enough to hold on to the edge of the table.

“You’re not going to this dinner” the authority in his tone of voice made your legs tremble, but you were grateful to hold yourself firmly against the table and your hands tightened their grip on the edge. Jaeyun still had the ability and knowledge to read you so perfectly that when he saw your mouth open – probably with the intention of asking why – he was faster and leaned in to press his lips to yours.

He expected anything: a slap, a sudden pull away, a loud curse that could echo throughout the building. But the surprise came when you let go of the edge of the table to spread your hands against his chest, slowly moving up until you grabbed the collar of the shirt he was wearing, pulling him closer to you.

You were an amazing woman and he knew it, every single thing you did drove him crazy. And feeling you pulling him between your legs, giving way by opening your lips and welcoming his tongue and tangling it with yours.

Everything seemed magical to Jaeyun and you. Each touch took its time, something that had been repressed until now. He brought his hands to your hips, keeping you in place as he made a small effort to lift you up and sit you on the table.

Your pride in trying to ignore him was going down the drain more and more, as Jaeyun intensified that kiss and moaned against your lips. You should have pushed him away and gotten out of there when it was time, but now it was too late. He was tangled between your legs and his hands were doing a great job squeezing you and sliding down to your lower back to slide down to your ass. It was your turn to moan against his lips, your nails going inside the collar of his shirt and scratching his shoulder to mark something against the skin you wanted so much to know.

“Jaeyun” you whispered breathlessly and he swore that was the best sound he had ever heard in his life. Pulling his lips away from yours to get some air for his lungs, he let you ramble on as he lowered his mouth down your jaw. Feeling the taste of your skin and the texture of it between his lips, marking a path of saliva until it reached your neck.

“Yes, babe?” Jaeyun had no idea how much he moved you, because if he did, he would never call you by that nickname in the form of a whisper, while still kissing your skin and sucking a good amount of it between his lips. The pop noise he left after a long suck, certainly leaving the spot marked a few minutes later.

“I need—” you wanted to say that you needed to go, that this would be a provocation on his part. But your mind wasn’t working right and it didn’t help that he started pressing his hips against yours. “Holy shit” you moaned softly, the hardness of Jaeyun’s cock slowly making the right pressure against your still-clothed clit. You couldn’t say how he had the exact notion of where to press and how to press.

“I already told you that you won’t, Y/n” Jaeyun gasped against your neck, moving his kisses up and trailing the tip of his tongue across your skin until his face was level with yours again.

That sight was hell on earth for you. Jaeyun with his lips red and shiny from the kiss they had just shared, adding to the kisses and hickeys on your skin. His eyes drooping and dark with desire staring at you with a possessiveness you never thought you would know. You wanted to be able to say something, but it was impossible while you had his hands on your shoulders now.

“Tell me if this is too much, okay?” What did he mean by that? What was Jaeyun thinking when he asked you that kind of thing? It was already too much to have felt his kiss in a situation like that, but you were sure that it was too much to have his fingers unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt.

Every particle of your skin is exposed for his eyes to admire even more. You were never one to wear low-cut tops at work and his sanity was grateful for that, so he didn't know what to do as each button was undone until he reached below your breasts.

“Shit” he cursed softly, praying that you wouldn't hear the hint of vulnerability in his voice as he noticed the light lace adorning your breasts. They were beautiful and he didn't want to think about anything else but touching them. But Jaeyun didn't want to rush, he needed to feel you because he had been depriving himself of it for so long and almost lost.

When the last button was undone, he bit his lower lip to keep from moaning at the sight of you naked in front of him, sitting on the table with his body between your legs. Jaeyun would be lying if he said he had never thought about being in that position with you, or any other, where only his cock inside you and your voice moaning his name would be enough for any scenario to be propitious. He felt like a pervert for it, but there was no denying the desire that radiated inside him every time you showed up.

Leaning down, Jaeyun left a kiss in the space between your neck and your collarbone, enjoying the sounds you made and smiling against your skin when he didn't hear any objections from you. This meant he could continue with the kisses until he reached the curve of your breast, tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. He looked up, seeking eye contact with you and when he did, he knew he was where he belonged. The way you looked at him, the tense and longing expression you maintained as you held his gaze was all he needed.

“Can I continue?” he asked.

“Please, yes” you answered, nibbling on your lower lip at the same moment that Jaeyun's teeth slid over the lace of your bra, lowering the fabric enough to expose your chest. He was on the verge of madness to taste every part of you, but desire consumed him with every reaction you had to his touch.

The tip of Jaeyun's tongue circled your exposed nipple, making a moan run through the room as it slipped out of your throat. He felt his cock tighten even more in his pants with each sound you made. His hands – which had previously remained calm when touching you – now impatiently ran over your shoulders to remove your shirt with a quick tug, going to the middle of your back to unbutton your bra and rip it off your body as well. Turning his attention back to your breasts, he sucked your nipple with such desire while his large hand covered the other and squeezed to feel its softness.

You were on cloud nine, his every touch coated with possessiveness and desire, making your head spin as you felt Jaeyun's warm tongue against your nipple. The silent sucking compared to the sound of your moans, while your hands quickly went to his hair to pull the strands as a sign that he would never stop what he was doing.

But he also didn't intend to take his mouth off your body. If Jaeyun could talk at that moment, he would tell you how good it was feeling every part of your skin, hearing every one of your moans, and he still hadn't done half of the things he wanted to do with you.

Missing your mouth, he went up to your lips again to share another kiss, this time a little more sloppy and slobbery. Your tongues ran against each other for dominance while your mouths fit perfectly, the synchrony of the movements making you both gasp into each other's mouths.

Jaeyun's hands went to your hips again, but this time his speed and strength came to the advantage as he took off your skirt along with your panties. At another time you could notice how skilled he was and wonder – or not – why he was in such a hurry or knew how to do it so quickly. But now you just wanted to focus on the cold air of the room hitting your pussy and how Jaeyun released your lips with a lewd and wet noise.

It never crossed your mind that Sim Jaeyun, your partner, the man you had seen many times seriously across the room – regardless of the number of times you had dinner together – and for whom you were harboring feelings, would now be kneeling in front of you. He was perdition personified in that submissive and vulnerable position. His eyes were bright, like a puppy begging for a reward. And you knew that what he wanted, besides making up for lost time, was to be between your legs like that.

A mutual and wordless agreement between you and Jaeyun was drawn at that moment, with him slowly approaching your pussy and you opening your legs enough to accommodate him even more. As a test, he stretched out his tongue and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clitoris, collecting your essence and feeling your taste linger on the tip of the wet muscle that he passed through your entire intimacy.

“Fuck, Jaeyun” you tilted your head back, the deliciously warm sensation of his tongue licking your pussy was too much to handle. His hands wrapped around your thighs and held them wide open as he licked a little more, seeming to be hungry as he collected a little more of your essence.

You rested your hands in his hair, your legs feeling like jelly as Jaeyun moved a little further. He focused on sucking on your clit, circling his tongue over the sensitive bud as he looked up to try to catch some reaction from you. Your head was thrown back, but he wanted you to look at him, just once. Just once to see him eat you like a good meal.

“Look at me, Y/n” Jaeyun asked hoarsely, pulling his lips away from your pussy to get your attention. You wanted to pull his hair and bury his face in your pussy again, the lack of contact with your clit made you whimper softly, it was a great torture. But you had to obey if you wanted to feel him again, so your head lifted, your eyes searching his to find the sinful sight.

There was no way Jaeyun could be that desirous more than anything else, it was impossible that that man could look so good in any position or situation. You almost cursed him if it weren't for how quickly he maintained eye contact as he approached your pussy again. This time he sucked you more slowly, drawing circles on your clit and maintaining eye contact, not losing a single second of his eyes on yours. He moved one of his hands away from your leg to slide between your folds, introducing his index finger into your hole.

“I— Fuck, don't do this” you pressed yourself against his finger, the introduction being too much for you. He wanted to fuck you so badly now, with your moaning and your eyes nearly closing, it was torturous to keep them open as he inserted the second finger and continued to suck on your clit.

The movements were now combined quickly, making him alternate between scissoring movements and rotating his fingers inside you, at the same second he sucked your clitoris and ran the tip of his tongue over your pussy, opening your lips so he could spread his saliva along with your essence. The wet sound of his fingers going back and forth inside you, Jaeyun's prominent knuckles almost making you come undone right there. Your walls sucked him so deliciously that he wanted to feel his cock being buried inside you and how hot it would be to be inside there.

The thought alone made Jaeyun feel his underwear get wet, he knew that his pre-cum was almost overcoming the tailoring of the pants he was wearing. It was already too much to have to endure all of that without being able to feel the slightest relief in his cock. But when he decided to introduce the third finger inside your pussy, it was as if he had seen the vision of heaven. Your head fell back again, you couldn't keep your eyes on him.

“Y/n, look—”

“Come up here, please,” you begged. He gave your clit one last kiss as if to taste you one last time before moving up his body to be close to you again. His fingers continued to work your pussy harder and harder as it clenched around his sliding, wet digits.

When Jaeyun brought his face closer to yours, you didn’t wait for any response other than to place your lips on his, sharing the taste of you that lingered on his lips. It was all so intense as your body shuddered and the knot in your stomach broke. You hugged Jaeyun’s body between your arms and held him by the hips between your legs, your pussy convulsing on his fingers as his mouth muffled the most obscene and loud moans you could make calling his name. Cumming on his fingers so hard that all of your liquid easily ran down the palm of his hand.

He wanted you to take the time you needed to catch your breath, the intensity of your orgasm taking over every cell in your body as he was careful enough to pull his fingers out of your pussy. You moaned and whimpered, the lack of contact making you feel empty and weak, but something sparked in you when Jaeyun pulled away enough to bring his fingers to his lips, licking the length of his cock until he reached the palm of his hand.

“I knew you tasted amazing” he whispered, completely cleaning up what had been your orgasm liquid until there was nothing left.

You pulled him back to you, running your thumb over his chin that held more of your liquid. Jaeyun smiled slowly as he felt your soft touch, your fingers sliding down it until they reached the waistband of his pants.

“Y/n, don’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay” you kissed his jaw, your lips slowly sliding down Jaeyun’s neck to part of his exposed collarbone “It must hurt, huh?”

“No” he lied, moaning the second your hands undid his belt and opened his zipper so his cock would be less tight. He wasn’t good at that kind of lie per se, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want to demand too much from you either, considering the intensity of your orgasm, Jaeyun was already happy to see you satisfied like that.

“We can make this less painful for you” your voice whispered so sensually that he almost came undone right there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down before he felt your mouth kiss him, right in the middle of his throat. “Put that down for me” your request was an order that had no objection, so Jaeyun quickly pushed his pants along with his underwear, his cock jumping out and hitting against his pelvis and stomach. Your eyes quickly scanned down, seeing the size of it and sighing at the thought of it being inside you in a few seconds.

“Y/n” Jaeyun moaned, an absurd need to have any kind of touch from you against him. Then your fingers quickly went to the head of his cock, red and shiny with pre-cum, spreading all the liquid with the sole purpose of stimulating him and teasing him a little. “What the fuck, shit” he cursed.

It was too much to suffer, considering that Jaeyun had been untouched for a long time, even more so after hearing your moans and seeing what your body was capable of with just a few touches from him. Impatience took over and he pulled his shirt by the collar, not bothering to undo any buttons, he just wanted to get rid of any piece that held him and feel the heat of your body against his.

“I want—” he moaned again, pushing his hips against the palm of your hand when you held the base and went down the entire length, masturbating his veiny and thick cock between your fingers. Jaeyun wanted nothing more than to feel your touch and what you were making him feel.

“What do you want?” you asked, your lips still against the skin of his throat, slowly sliding down to one of his ears to whisper the words. He spread his hands on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling your body over the table so that he was at the edge of it. Your hips and your pussy are a little more exposed to him.

“I want to be inside you, Y/n. I— fuck” Jaeyun knew he was being a mess just moaning and fucking your fist as your hand tightened more and more on his cock. Spreading the pre-cum all over the length until it reached the base.

He went crazy when you leaned in enough for a ball of saliva to escape between your lips and slide down to the head of his cock, spreading some of it along the length with your – almost–perfect aim. That helped spread it even more across Jaeyun’s cock and he couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much for him and the boy was afraid he would explode in his hand and cum right there. It would be shameful to do this without him being inside you, even for a few seconds.

“Y/n, please…” it was his turn to beg now. The feared Sim Jake would never do this, would never be in this role, much less Sim Jaeyun. Both respected and feared, but now he just wanted to be yours and beg for whatever you had to offer.

Without further provocation, you knew how painful it was for him. And your pussy got wet again just from the sounds he made and the unfolding of the scene in front of you. Positioning his cock at your entrance, it was a silent invitation for him to insert himself into your hole. Your hands left there to hold him, one on each side of his neck, letting Jaeyun lead the movements.

Slowly he thrust his cock into you, the warmth of your pussy and the wetness of your juices being enough to shelter him so well and facilitate the entrance of his cock that you swore it would not be possible to fit. Soon he was all the way inside you, his breathing uneven as he finally had his cock shoved into your pussy.

“How do you feel?” Jaeyun uttered with some difficulty, his chest rising and falling quickly as he leaned his body towards you.

“Amazing” you tried not to moan, pulling his face close to yours so that his forehead rested on yours. “You can move now” your request, again, became an order when Jaeyun finally moved his hips to remove his cock and leave only the head inside you, returning with a slow but strong movement. His pelvis touching your clit with the movement.

He could no longer hold back his good manners and the desire to go slowly, wanting to make you feel every time his cock entered and left your pussy. Jaeyun pressed his fingers into your thighs, leaving marks that could be seen later as his nails dug into your skin, gaining momentum to start the movements. The sounds of skin slapping and the wetness of both your arousals are the perfect symphony accompanied by the moans that you and he left in your living room. It was visible the way you tried to keep your body each time Jaeyun thrust his cock even deeper into you, the burning slightly appearing in your groin with each more force that he thrust inside you. Your walls fluttered around his cock and sheltered him each time he entered with even more force.

“Shit, you feel so good.” Jaeyun gave a small smile when you tried to say something, only managing to moan and nod in agreement. Knowing how hard it would be for you to say anything at that moment he went faster and faster, pressing his fingers harder and harder against your body, now moving up to your hips. He felt you move your body against his, rubbing your clit against the length of his cock each time he pulled out completely before burying him deep inside you again. Jaeyun’s pelvis stimulated your sensitive bud each time he went so deep that there was no space left between your bodies, his balls slapping against your thighs and adding even more to the obscene noises in the sex between the two of you.

Jaeyun’s cock twitched as your pussy tightened, indicating that your orgasm was just around the corner. He was also about to cum, practically holding it in for so long that he feared how much would come next.

“I need—” Jaeyun whispered.

“Inside” you cut him off, knowing he could cum just by the way his hips bucked between thrusts. Your hands slid down his neck and up to his cheeks, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled, your lips quick and desperate for some pressure as he picked up the pace to drive his cock even deeper into you.

A combination of his hip thrusts and the pulls he gave your hips to meet him, he felt your pussy clench around him so hard that it was enough for Jaeyun to spill. He came, painting your walls milky white as he moaned your name relentlessly. You weren’t far away and it only took a few more thrusts for you to cum on his cock. The white ring formed around his length as he continued to thrust in and out of you, not indicate that he was stopping just because cum was still gushing from the head of his sensitive cock.

With one last movement, your pussy milking every last drop, Jaeyun stopped moving. The strength draining from his body and giving way to calm, the high serotonin running through you and him after you both came together.

Jaeyun left a slow kiss on your lips, waiting a long minute until he finally pulled out of you. The sensitivity hits you both and makes you moan into each other's mouths.

“Sorry” he said as he knew you might be hypersensitive, even though he wanted to stay inside your pussy all night if he could.

“Okay” you replied, smiling tiredly before looking to the side and searching for your clothes. He went faster before lifting his underwear and pants, leaving a hint of sadness in your body for depriving you of the sight of him practically naked in front of you. But what caught your attention was that Jaeyun picked up his shirt from the floor, stretching it towards you.

“I don’t know where there are tissues, but—” he smiled a little, using the sleeve of his shirt to clean you between your legs.

“Jaeyun” you tried to stop him, but it was too late. Jaeyun cleaned you so carefully that it was practically impossible to believe, especially after what the two of you had done and the marks he had left on your body.

He helped you change, putting each piece of clothing in its proper place and still waiting for you to fix your hair, turning to him after a long time. The stain on the sleeve of his shirt, after it was put on, made your cheeks burn more than looking into his eyes and thinking about what the two of you had done.

“So…” you began, looking at him with a shy smile. Jaeyun smiled too, biting the inside of his cheek to keep it from growing even bigger as he got closer and wrapped one of his arms around your waist.

“Then I’ll take you home, and we’ll have dinner properly again from now on” as a couple, he wanted to add. But that was too much for just one night, Jaeyun wanted to tell you that as the two of you went out more often.

Explaining the fear he felt about his feelings for you was the most that could come out of Jaeyun's mouth. That made him feel good enough to not think he was lying – completely – to you. He was really afraid of what he felt, but at the same time, he was afraid of bringing you into his double world. The last part was still a secret, but at least hearing that you forgave him and that you accepted having a relationship with him was all that needed to be said.

Two months in which Jaeyun stopped being afraid to tell you what he felt for you. That the two of you, besides being business partners, had become a couple. You started to frequent his apartment and met his friends too, those who had to lie about their professions and never let it slip that they worked for Sim Jake, who you didn't even know.

Two months in which you had private security, unknown to you because Sunghoon's idea was better. At least one man every week took care of you from afar and kept Jaeyun informed in case anyone suspicious approached. No consequences were made as the relationship progressed. He was a little more relieved. Keeping it just in Jaeyun's life was what he wanted for a while, if things really progressed and became even more serious, he had to tell you about his other life. But there was no need yet.

“Love” your voice made him abandon the thoughts that constantly intrigued him, afraid that you would leave him at any moment for the lie he so wanted to get rid of, but couldn't. Looking in your direction, the smile came automatically when you approached him, going around the office desk to sit on his lap “Is everything okay?”

“Why do you ask?” in the last few months Jaeyun let the thought pass that you could also read him the same way he did with you. That you knew him as well as he knew you.

“Because I’ve been feeling quiet for a few days now” you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, at the same second he wrapped his arm around your waist “And because you’re twenty minutes late for dinner.”

Shit, the dinner. He had completely forgotten, staying inside the office to finish answering Jongseong and Sunghoon’s messages, trying to keep things out of danger with the new robbery that had been successfully carried out. He wanted to know if everything had gone according to the orders he had given that same morning, completely forgetting that he was supposed to meet you twenty minutes ago in the company parking lot.

“Shit, love, I’m sorry” Jaeyun leaned in, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His heavy breathing hit your skin and made you shiver. “I just—”

“How about we go home, then?” you asked, one of your hands going up to his hair and trying to stroke it slowly. “Your day must have been kind of rough, those men are annoying when they want to go back on their proposals.”

Every time you deduced that Jaeyun's tiredness and fear had something to do with the office, his heart sank a little more. His breathing hitched and he wanted to scream. But he held himself back and just nodded slowly, kissing your skin and lifting his head to look at you.

“Wait for me in the car? I'll fix everything here,” he asked.

“Sure,” you smiled once more, that being enough to calm all the nerves that persisted in his body. You leaned in to leave a quick and simple kiss on Jaeyun's full lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered back, kissing you once more before letting you get off his lap to leave the room.

Saying that he loved you out loud was like freeing himself from the bonds that suffocated him, held him back, and hurt him. He had never said that out loud to anyone other than his parents and his best friends. At first, it was as scary as wanting a relationship, but as you said and showed your love, Jaeyun knew it was the right thing to do. He felt that all that love was overwhelming, that as intensely as it scared him, it was the only thing that gave him the courage to continue.

Turning off all the appliances in the room and turning off the lights, he headed to the hallways of the building, greeting the security guards and some employees who were still there. Going to meet you in the parking lot. He just wanted to go home, enjoy your company, and take a hot shower. Many notes Jaeyun could think about having sex with you and using it as a form of calming, but that night he just wanted to feel your embrace, and your smell alone being the only thing capable of making his mind unfocused from everything that worried him.

A natural calming that was always right in front of him, the person who was the perfect balance between chaos and what he needed to stay alive.

“Jaeyun!” That was your voice, he could hear it from far away, but it wasn't like your call was as soft and calm as it always was. You were screaming. In desperation.

He looked around the open parking lot, trying to find you and why you seemed so desperate, but suddenly his world fell apart. Jaeyun's stomach was churning seeing your figure through the window of that van, screaming desperately and being pulled by someone hooded who wanted you to be quiet.

The car accelerated, making a complete turn in the parking lot before stopping next to Jaeyun and the passenger rolled down the window.

“We have something that belongs to you, Jake” the man smiled with rotten teeth, Jaeyun ran a few steps to grab him, but the driver took off “We want our drugs back!” he shouted before disappearing.

Your screams were the last thing he heard before the dead of night and the noise of the tires tearing through that parking lot. Jaeyun fell to his knees on the ground, the strength draining from his body. His scream echoed throughout the parking lot as he felt despair flood his body, along with the burning in his eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.

What he feared most had happened. And he would stop at nothing to get you back.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[nhlclover]

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!

⊱ Those Three Words ⊰ || Mr. Silvair X Reader

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮   Character(s): Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (specifically Route End: Mr. Silver Hair 1), Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and Horror-Elements), Cultural Barriers (Mr. Silvair Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions). Anything spoken in the other world’s language will be bolded. Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Slight Angst, Pre-Established Romantic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~3,280 Request: “Hello!! I see your requests for Homicipher are open and I got giddy :D (starving for more content) May I request fluff drabble for Mr Silviar? Maybe his s/o teaching him how to say "I love you" in human language? Thank you!” Author’s Note: Mr. Silvair!!! He’s genuinely so pretty, y’all – it’s not fair. 😔 I find his overall character to be quite fascinating, and a part of me is really hoping the game gets a DLC or something to further expand on each of the character’s lore (and more moments with the MC, of course). Like game, what do you mean that some of the monsters may have been humans while others probably never were?? I desperately need more food… I headcanon that Mr. Silvair was either 1. never human, or 2. has been in the other world for a very long time, resulting in the loss of his memory as a human which could be why he’s so interested in researching them/maintaining the MC’s humanity. 🤔 But that’s just a theory – a game theory! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡ ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

Even after everything that had happened between you and this world’s resident human-enjoyer, you surprisingly still felt at ease with Mr. Silvair. That comfortability, though, made you think hard about your sanity. After all, it probably wasn’t normal to be comfortable around someone who enjoyed taking you apart and watching your body put itself back together over and over again. Yet, you did, and you didn’t mind your current arrangement as much as you probably would have in the past. 

Mr. Silvair’s home was destroyed in a fiery explosion (courtesy of himself), so you had offered to help him find a new one. You managed to locate a large room, one that he deemed satisfactory enough to call his base, and you had been staying with him indefinitely since then. As long as you had a comfy bed to lay in and someone else to keep you company, you were happy. 

Your other friends(?) frequently stopped by as well to say hello, the most common ones being Mr. Crawling and Mr. Chopped. While you were occasionally hit with a feeling of loneliness, it was hard to feel that way with so many friendly faces around. Well… maybe their faces weren’t that friendly, but they were kind and gentle with you, and that’s what truly mattered. 

You hear the sound of Mr. Silvair moving around in the room adjacent to the one you typically stayed in, and you wonder to yourself what his plans for today are. The tall, long-haired man spent most of his time engaged in research. You didn’t see him as frequently as one would expect despite the fact you two were practically roommates. All you could do was hope he wasn’t messing around with and subsequently angering any more terrifying, violent ghosts. You enjoyed your current home, and going out to look for another one wasn’t very high on your list of things to do. 

The Rubik’s Cube in your hand was still as scattered as ever, and it seemed like, no matter how long you spent trying to solve it, you were only able to successfully complete one side. Mr. Masque was kind enough to give it to you (he apparently had a whole stash of the things somewhere), and his gift was something you were immensely grateful for. Attempting to figure out the puzzle helped you pass the time wherever you were alone (and it most likely helped you keep your head on straight). 

You’re currently lying flat on your back atop the plush bed in the relatively empty living space, looking up at the gray concrete ceiling with a blank stare. Once you decide you’ve loafed around for long enough, you stand up slowly from the bed, placing the cube gently on the covers of the cot. You stretch your arms above your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat at the movement of your stiff muscles, and you begin to make your way to the other room where your… 

What even was Mr. Silvair to you? While yes, you were fond of him – hell, you’d go as far as to say you loved him – you knew he didn’t feel the same. You remember the moment he told you “I not understand like”, and that he didn’t want to save you from your condition, no… he found you entertaining to keep around, and that’s why he did what he did. 

It was complicated, you thought, trying to have a relationship with a being who didn’t grasp what the concept of love was. Deep down, though, you knew you wouldn’t change it for the world. He enjoyed your presence, and that was all you could ask for. 

You walk over to the metal door and knock, waiting for a response. After a moment, you hear Mr. Silvair’s voice echo, “Enter.”

The door opens with a slight creak as you twist the knob, peeking your head inside the somewhat grimy space. The room, still fairly new, didn’t have as much blood or gore as his old one did. There were fresh stains on the floor and wall, you noted, and you couldn’t help but wonder who or what they were from exactly. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, though, so you didn’t bother asking. 

You grin up at the taller man and give him a small wave, saying softly, “Hello. I not bother?”

He returns your smile, placing the scalpel in his hand on the stainless steel tray that held a variety of medical tools. It looked like he was in the process of cleaning the many, typically blood-stained, pieces of equipment. Mr. Silvair turns to face you and replies gently, “Hello. You not bother. Enter.”

Tilting his head to one side, his long, silver locks move when he does, cascading down his head and slipping off his shoulder at the movement. His smile drops slightly before he asks, “Feeling unwell? Injured? Need cure?”

“No, no cure.” You quickly say, not quite in the mood to be dissected or taken apart right now (honestly, though, you never really were, even if you did understand why it needed to be done). You pause by the door before finally shutting it behind you, the both of you now alone in the private and secluded space. 

Ugh – why was it so hard to say what was on your mind??

After taking a moment to build up your confidence, you tell Mr. Silvair while fidgeting with the rubber of the clear raincoat you wore, “I want see you. Communicate.”

He hums and smiles at your admission, walking over to you before placing a calloused hand on your face. Your eyes close on instinct, and your breathing shutters when he rubs his thumb across your cheek. A part of you wanted to be annoyed with him since he had to be aware of the effect he had on you, yet you didn’t want to run the risk of him removing his cool palm from your skin, so you kept your mouth shut. 

It had taken quite some time for Mr. Silvair to get to this point of physical affection with you (something he began doing more often after he saw how much you enjoyed getting head-pats from Mr. Crawling), so you didn’t want to ruin any progress you two had made in your complicated and unconventional relationship. 

“Okay,” Mr. Silvar starts, removing his hand from your face as he gestures to one of the two chairs in the room. He smiles down at you before saying, “Sit. We communicate.”

You do as you’re told without speaking another word, your hands folded in your lap after you sit down, watching Mr. Silvair take a seat on the chair across from you. You talk with him for quite some time, doing your best to update him on your current progress with the puzzle since that was pretty much the only thing you had going on in your life. While it wasn’t satisfying to speak in the other world’s language because it tended to miss most of the nuances of speech, it was the only way the two of you could communicate. 

Mr. Silvair seemed to pick up on your frustration, seeing you were growing annoyed at the lack of words in your arsenal – the term you were looking for wasn't coming to mind. In response, he tilts his head to the side and asks you, “You upset. Why?”

“Not right words.” You reply, brows furrowed when you look up at him, your gaze landing on the bloody bandages wrapped around his eyes. You turn your head to look down at the floor, the somewhat fresh pool of blood perfectly matching the color of the Rubik’s Cube. You point to the puddle and turn to ask Mr. Silvair, “What’s this called in your language? Can you tell me how to say this color?”

“Blood.” Mr. Silvair responds, not understanding what you wanted him to explain. 

“No, no.” You quickly reply, shaking your head. You continue to glance between him and the blood, enunciating your words even though he didn’t understand your language the same way you were able to understand his. You didn’t back down or give up, though, saying again, “The color – I want to know what color blood is.”

He pauses, one hand under his chin as he seemingly takes a moment to figure out what you are asking him. After a few beats, Mr. Silvair replies with a word you haven’t heard anyone speak before, “???”

You visibly brighten at the new word, and the expression on your face causes Mr. Silvair to let out a light chuckle before he crosses one of his legs over the other. You take a breath before telling him, “Okay. Thank you.” 

After another pause, you continue to speak, “So… One part object done, red part. Other parts hard – not finish.”

Mr. Silvair had been leaning forward in his chair, his elbow digging into his knee while his hand rested under his chin, holding his head up as he stared at you with an unwavering gaze. He always listened to you with rapt interest, and you would be lying if you said the constant attention didn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. However, he suddenly speaks, pointing to the pool of blood you had been gesturing toward moments before, “What you call that?”

“Huh?” You ask, pausing your story to look at him. Mr. Silvair doesn’t say anything else, though, giving you a moment to comprehend what he has asked you. You perk up when your brain finally registers what Mr. Silvair had said, replying to him happily, “Oh, that’s the color red. So, blood is typically red – blood red.” 

“R-ehd?” He echos, and the sound of his voice speaking a word that you were able to understand without having to flip through your mental dictionary had your breath hitching. It sounded so strange but so nice coming from his lips. 

“Yeah, red! Blood is red!” You say, sounding excited and oh-so happy. Mr. Silvair would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find the look on your face and the tone of your voice endearing. Then, your expression shifts slightly as you lean forward in your chair, saying enthusiastically, “Oh my god – I just got an idea! Me teach you me language!”

“...You language?” Mr. Silvair asks after a moment, shifting in his seat slightly. 

“Yes! Me teach you!” You reply, gesturing to both him and you with your hands. Your mind remembers the way Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped helped you shortly after you first arrived, teaching you directions to walk, facial expressions, and more. They had helped you expand your knowledge of this world’s language, and they were probably responsible for your survival in so many of those early interactions. So, you smile at him as you say, “We same.”

He returns a smile, nodding his head and replying with a simple, “Okay.”

“Alright, so, let me think here…” You hum to yourself, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes while you consider what you should start with. Body parts seemed to be the first thing that popped into your head, so that’s eventually what you decided to start with. Sitting up in the chair, you point toward your hand with the other, tapping a finger to your palm as you speak, “Okay, so, this is my hand – hand. Can you say hand?”

It was kind of cute, strangely enough, seeing Mr. Slivair take the time to repeat the word you spoke over and over in his mind, trying to match the movement of your mouth with his own. Your languages were quite different in sounds, syllables, and the like, so he was practicing what to say before actually speaking. After a few moments of contemplation, he replies, “...H-ah-nd.”

“Hey, that was pretty good! Not bad for your first try, Mr. Silvair, even if the pronunciation is a bit off.” You say with a wide smile, clapping your hands together as you applaud him on his efforts. He chuckles again, finding your way of teaching to be… sweet. 

Then, you speak again, once again grabbing his attention. You tap the pad of your finger under the skin of your eye, asking him, “Do you remember what this is called? I think I’ve told you before.”

Mr. Silvair is quicker in his response this time, having heard you ask him about his own eyes before as he smoothly says, “Eye.” 

“Yes! Good job!” You praise once more, giving him a thumbs up in response. Then, he stands up from his seat, walking over to you while his once-white lab coat flows behind him. You crane your head back to look up at him from where you were still sitting, a simple and stupid, “...Huh?” leaving your mouth. 

Mr. Silvair reaches a hand to your face, cupping your chin gently in his hand. You feel his thumb resting on your bottom lip, and he begins to move his finger back and forth along the slightly chapped flesh, tugging at it slightly. He tilts his head to the side, asking you seriously, “What this called?”

“Oh, uh…” You know your face is probably flushed beyond belief at this point if the heat cascading through your head is anything to go by, and your mind and heart are completely caught off-guard by his sudden touch and question. You avert your gaze to the side, swallowing harshly before you finally reply, “They’re my lips – they’re, umm… similar to mouth. Lips, mouth, same.”

“...Lips?” Mr. Silvair asks again for clarification, his voice having an almost husky tone to it that has a shiver travel down your spine. 

You nod in response, muttering a barely audible, “Yes…” 

Mr. Silvair hums at your response, a small smile gracing his lips. He leans down, face so close to yours, before he inquires with an almost teasing tone to his voice, “You want touch?”

“Y-Yes.” You answer at an almost embarrassingly fast speed. 

The man who you had grown so fond of chuckles at your enthusiasm before leaning forward, pressing his lips softly to yours while he holds your face between his palms. Kisses weren’t a common thing between the two of you, and they were really only something Mr. Silvair initiated when he felt like it. You could feel the intensity at which your heart was beasting due to his sudden affections, and there was a part of you that was worried it would burst out of your chest right then and there. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head to the side, your hands coming up to rest atop his – his hands that were holding your cheeks so, so gently. It was almost sickening the way he was holding you like you could break at any moment. 

Then, almost as quickly as it began, the kiss ended before you even realized it did. Mr. Silvair’s forehead was now pressed against yours, and he doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from your face. Your lips were no longer touching, and yet he still lingered.  

Mr. Silvair didn’t play fair, you thought, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to kiss you so suddenly, so randomly. You close your eyes and your brows furrow at the tightening in your throat, an aching sensation slowly spreading throughout your chest like a disease before you whisper, “...I love you.”

There’s a silence, a stretch of nothingness before Mr. Silvair suddenly asks you, his voice just as soft as yours had been, “Repeat?”

“...No,” Your response is nearly immediate, and you shake your head before repeating once more, “Nothing.”

“...I love you.” The sound of those three words leaving his lips nearly causes your mind to implode. It sounded so sweet, yet it also felt worse than any suffering you had experienced before. The searing and excruciating pain, the feeling of a blade digging itself into the flesh of your torso couldn’t compare to the deep-seated torment you felt right now.

Mr. Silvair hums, tilting his head to the side as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks, “What mean?”

You knew there was no point, no reason to try and explain your feelings again, but you do. You still do, even though you know it’s pointless to try. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you speak, finding the concrete floor more interesting, “Mean… mean me like you. Lot like.”

There’s a pause, a moment of contemplation before Mr. Silvair says, “...Not understand.”

“I know.” You reply, nodding your head once in response. 

“You know?” He asks you, sounding somewhat confused, a tone you very rarely heard from the man. Had he forgotten that moment that you couldn’t seem to forget, the memory that you continuously found replaying in your mind like a broken record? It wasn’t fair, you thought, that only you were forced to hold onto such a painful memory. 

“You communicate before.” You clarify, finally willing yourself to look at his face. Mr. Silvair’s expression was tight, his lips drawn into a flat line. 

You needed to get away, to just run from this moment in the hopes he would forget the whole exchange just as he apparently did the last one. You take your hands and grab his wrists, removing his palms from your face before you stand up from the chair. You refuse to look at him as you turn, heading to the door as you utter, “...I’m going to go for a walk, so I’ll be back later. Goodbye.”

Then, you feel something tug at the sleeve of your raincoat. It wasn’t strong, nothing that would actually stop you from moving, but your legs proceeded to hault at the small action. Mr. Silvair says, his tone not demanding in the slightest – if anything, it sounded like a plea as he speaks, “No exit.”

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him, asking in such a small voice that it even caught yourself off-guard, “...Why?”

“I want you here.” Mr. Silvair responds quickly, so quickly it seems to have taken both of you by surprise. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he asks, finally releasing the material of your jacket from in between his fingers, “Stay… Will you stay?”

You once again find yourself wondering if Mr. Silvair was aware of the effect he had on you as a sigh leaves your mouth. You nod your head lightly and reply, “I will stay.”

“Good.” He says in response, a gentle smile on his face as he says for the second time, “I love you.”

You frown at him and shake your head, saying with a slight edge of frustration in your voice, “No speak. Not true.” 

“True… Believe true.” He says quickly, reaching out to once again place a hand against your cheek. You don’t move, don’t flinch away from his touch – you still relish the way he’s holding you like a fragile piece of glass. Mr. Silvair’s brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he mutters, “Confused.”

“You’re telling me… How do you think I feel?” You say with a huff, your hand holding into his as you find yourself nuzzling your nose into his palm. The painful feeling in your chest was still present, but it wasn’t nearly as excruciating as it had been now. You find it in yourself to smile, gazing up at him as you speak, “...but we’ll get through it together – we together. Right?”

“To-geh-ther…” He repeats, leaning down to press his forehead to yours once more as he says softly, “Yes.”

[gojobbg]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 8

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: AHHH im so sorry i was gone for so long! work and school and i got sick again. my luck lately has been quite poor, but here's the next part!! i dont think its quite well written but i hope you all think its good! thank u again for ur support, kindness, and patience :) (sorry i say thank you so much, cant help myself!)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Wednesday

You should have worn more lotion. 

The unkind cold and threatening winds made your trek to work excruciatingly more difficult. Surely you made it, but had to get blind by the flurries of snow in the process. You take your time in the lobby, stomping aggressively down at the weather mats to remove all the snow and ice from your boots. You shake yourself like a wet dog to get the snow off your coat, too. The lobby men chuckle at you, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

It’s been rough to do so, after all. Considering you got rejected twice by the same man, you needed all the serotonin you could get. You spent hours crying, which only halted when you finally passed out. The heartbreak exhausted you, given how dark your eyes were, and how hollow your chest has felt since then. The worst part about all of it is that despite everything, you still had Nanami’s coffee in mind. 

It floated in your mind to go to the cafe and get him a cup. But you have to remember that he has other assistants who know his coffee order now. You were now one of few who knew it. 

To have your relationship seen as just boss/assistant by the other participant felt like punishment. A large sigh left your lips when you exited the elevator on your floor. Shivers tickled your body as you begrudgingly walked over to your desk. It was warm in the office, enough for you to take solace in. 

You begin to turn on your computer and prepare your desk, before being interrupted by two hands slamming down your desk. You look up to find a panting (and exhausted) Haibara. “Yu?” You whisper worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

“He lost the flashdrive,” Haibara lets out. “The presentation… it’s missing.” 

Your eyes widen, “Nanami? But… how?” Of all people, Nanami was never one to lack in anything, especially in organization. He was always sharp and aware of where all his things were. You never had to concern yourself with assignments getting lost because Nanami is too diligent.

“We– we um, drank last night…?” Haibara reluctantly confesses. “We both got home quite late… he might not have his whole head on.”

Without another word, you swiftly leave your desk and rush over to Nanami’s office, with Haibara following closely behind. On your way towards his office, you see all of Takada’s assistants outside of his office, their expressions full of concern. You make your way through them and knock on his door gently. 

“What?” Nanami’s annoyed tone rang through the door. 

“It’s Y/N,” you reply, ignoring his attitude. 

Quick shifting was sound behind the door before the doorknob began to turn. The door opens to reveal a disheveled Nanami. Despite his usually refined features, his unkempt hair and unbutton shirt was quite distracting. The shadows line his collarbone and the darkness under his eyes add to the intensity in his struggling, hazel eyes. He leaned against the door frame, his eyes slightly lighting up from your presence. There was some sort of relief in his eyes, but it was still drowned out by anxiety. 

“Please, please tell me you have a copy?” Nanami practically begs.  

You feel a lump in your throat from seeing his desperation. Not even you can be dismissive to his plea. “I–I was instructed not to keep an extra copy. It’s confidential, so I didn’t…” 

Nanami let out a quiet ‘fuck,’ retreating slowly back towards his desk. “Don’t worry, I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself because you’re right and I’m simply irresponsible…” He leans back against his desk, defeatedly holding himself up with his hands firmly down on the desk behind him. He looks distantly to the floor, a sight you never thought you’d ever see. 

The confident, sharp Nanami was now at his wits’ end. 

“Do you remember when you last had it?” You ask quietly. 

“I had it in my coat pocket on my way here,” he recalls quietly, “I still had it when I got off the train, so it must be outside around the area.” 

“But with all that snow…” Haibara begins, the defeat clearly on his tongue. 

You let out a sigh, emitting a calm apology before dismissing yourself. Once you were out of sight, you ran towards the elevator, practically beating the button until it arrived to you. You impatiently wait as you descend, your body already feeling the cold from outside. Even maintenance couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched you run out from the lobby, and into the harsh weather. 

It was a bit embarrassing for you. You were always there to fix Nanami’s scarce mistakes, or prevent them. Even after he broke your heart twice, here you are, outside in the freezing cold, without any garments to protect you from it. You could feel your body beginning to go numb from the seconds you were outside. 

Your exposed legs were inches deep in the snow, your frigid hands sifting desperately through the snow. Why? You asked yourself. Why, why, why? You were freezing, the weather was harsh, and this flash drive is as small as a roach. Why were you doing all of this? 

As you shoveled through the snow, you were finally able to feel how you were feeling after facing Nanami again. You were able to keep yourself from crying, but you wanted to cry profusely. Your boss, your crush, was stressed out over a mistake he made, and it didn’t even make you feel better. Unfortunately, your feelings were too weaved into his, and you felt the stress he is feeling. 

It bothered you to see him stressed. So much so, your body moved on its own and now it was in the cold, looking for the solution to Nanami’s problem. You didn’t even stay idle for a moment while in his office. Perhaps, the reason why you were helping him was because since you met Nanami, he has always been someone to work for his team. 

But you know for sure part of it was that you never want to see him like that again.

Taking on projects on his own to keep his other colleagues working in low piles. Working with clients he personally isn’t a fan of to make sure the company grows. Providing breakfast and lunch when important meetings arise to make sure everyone at least eats well before torturous work. He was strict, but never a mean person. And to that end might explain why you still felt the way you did. 

However, 

Your respect for him goes above your feelings. A hard piece of plastic was barely felt between your fingers, but they were able to hold onto it firmly. The small flash drive, covered in a bit of snow, still glowed green when you pushed up to reveal the USB. You promptly make your way back in, the warmth barely penetrating the cold you developed while being outside. 

I’m gonna get sick, you thought to yourself. As you passed through the lobby, you noticed Nanami’s clients getting checked in at the lobby. You hurry to the elevator, pushing aggressively at the close button so they didn’t have a chance to get there at the same time you did. You move your legs in place, attempting to regain some warmth. While you ascended, you purposely pushed the buttons of the floors you passed to delay their arrival. Finally reaching your level, you rush out to go to the other free elevator. As you did, you were met with a concerned Haibara. 

“H-hey!” Haibara calls to you, but you ignore him and shove the flash drive into his hand. But as you did, he noticed that you were frozen and kept his hands around yours. “You… found it? Did you go outside? Without a coat? Y/N, you’re freezing!” 

Oh, how you wished you fell for Haibara instead. You pull away your hand, quickly entering the other elevator and slamming your hands on the buttons. You look up at Haibara, your bottom lip blue and quivering. “Take it to Nanami,” you say roughly, your voice hoarse from the little warmth in your body. “Your clients. They’re downstairs. Hurry up.”

Haibara holds onto your arms, noticing that you could barely keep yourself up, “yeah, fuck the clients. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Please,” you look up at him desperately, tears welling in your eyes. It was already enough that you felt stupid for even looking for the flashdrive in this state. But even Haibara couldn’t push away the hurt and stress in your own eyes. “I’ll be fine… please help Nanami finish this.” 

“Let me at least walk you to your desk–” 

“I got her!” You both look over to see Tae run over, his apron dancing left and right from not being properly tied in the back. He quickly takes hold of you, looking up at Haibara to give him a curt nod in replacement of a proper bow. “Resume your work, Haibara-sama. I can tend to her.” 

Tae held you close enough that you could feel his warmth. It was intoxicating almost, the solace of his heat and the scent of pine needles emanating from his body. The fresh scent of linen coming from his black sweatshirt made you feel a little nostalgic but uneasy. You could still feel the cold taking you over, your entire body shivering. His hands firmly held you without squeezing you tightly. 

Haibara looks down skeptically, but you wave at him. “Please go,” you croak, coughs finally leaving your throat. “I’ll be fine.” You could see that you didn’t quite persuade him, but for the sake of Nanami, he nodded. 

He eyes Tae, a rare serious aura surrounding him, “get her to a doctor if she needs it. I’ll be back as soon as the presentation ends. Please make her something hot, like hot cocoa or soup.” Tae nods, allowing Haibara to run back towards Nanami, who was probably drowning in his own anxiety. 

“‘m sorry to inconvenience you like this, Tae,” you whisper, your body still shaking and twitching from the cold. “But thank you for that.” 

“No worries, please don’t exert yourself,” Tae softly warns. He tightens his hold on you before slowly walking you over to the cafe. Though you didn’t have enough trust to close your eyes, you did have enough to hold his sweater, confident that he won’t let you fall. “Let me help you. After all, you helped me first. Come, the cafe is just around the corner.” 

The relief on Nanami’s face was truly meant to be displayed in a museum. 

He held onto the flashdrive tightly, mentally scolding himself from ever dropping it in the first place. He forces it into the projector, and everything was set up for the clients to come in moments. He noticed that the flash drive was not only still cold, but slightly wet. “Was it outside in the snow?” 

Haibara nods as he fixes up the conference table a bit. It was ornate with drinks, snacks, and notetaking items for their clients to use and enjoy. “The snow is really growing by the inch out there. This winter is brutal.” 

“It truly is unkind out there,” Nanami sighs, his eyes looking through the window. “I hope you grabbed your coat before going out there.” 

Haibara shakes his head, “it wasn’t me who found the flashdrive; it was Y/N. I caught her at the elevator, and she was the one who handed it to me.” 

Nanami slightly perks up at your name, “did she really?” 

“She left straight from your office to go find it,” Haibara says quietly, “but she didn’t even bring a sweater. She was completely frozen when I saw her.” 

This left a pit in Nanami’s stomach. “Why did she not bring a coat? She’s more rational than that.” 

Haibara lets out a sigh, “who’s to say, Kento. Y/N works very hard to do right by you and this company. I think she’d do whatever it takes in order to make sure you and this department shines.” 

“Disregarding her health is not why she’s here,” Nanami huffs strictly. “Where is she?” 

“I left her with the barista you hired,” Haibara informs, “my guess is he took her to the cafe to warm her up.” 

Nanami’s eyes cut over to Haibara, burning through his soul. Despite this, Haibara still didn’t see his eyes. “You left her with a stranger?” 

“A stranger you hired,” Haibara clarifies. “Anyways, Y/N insisted I come help you. I’d probably make her feel worse if I didn’t.” 

There was a rare annoyance that Nanami never felt. You were always conscious of yourself, and others. Nanami always noticed when you would help someone with a large pile of papers, or when you applied bandages to blisters due to your heels. But more times than not, you never shied away from a challenge, and never hesitated to help someone whether they asked or not. 

But now you were far from him, and he couldn’t do anything to help you. He had this stupid presentation to do, rather than be by your side and tend to you. After all, you truly were the reason behind his success. The reason for his reduced stress, and a direct asset to his department. You did so much for him, only to be given a shred of that effort. He was feeling guilty, not only for being unaware of his feelings towards you, but the immense disregard he had for your own feelings and effort in this company. 

You were his dear assistant, and he was breaking you. 

“I’ll be back,” Nanami hums, rushing out of the conference room. Haibara looks back and follows right behind him, surprised by his sudden dash. 

Nanami, the meeting!” Haibara calls out to him, “you can’t do this right now!” 

His response was silence as he reached the corner towards the cafe. As he appears in the opening, his hazel eyes relentlessly looked for you. But when he stumbled upon you, his concern and annoyance skyrocketed. 

You were lying on one of the couches at the cafe, surrounded by a few of the baristas there. They all comforted you, as you lay under a few blankets. But Nanami noticed that below all of that, you were covered by a large, black crewneck. On your head, a beanie as well. And sat on a stool right in front of you with a hot coffee cup was Tae, the barista he hired. Nanami noticed the warmth in his eyes when he looked down at you, with a free hand out to you. Your boss felt a lump in his throat when he saw you take his hand, helping you sit up to take the cup from him. Tae kept his hand on the bottom of the cup while you sipped it cautiously. 

His chest felt like someone was pushing it down, his breath was limited. His heart, at the same time, was punching against it as well, almost as if it was going through a two-front war. He looks down at his hands, adjusting the sleeves at both of his wrists. He needed to reach you– sooner rather than later. And now looked like the perfect opportunity. 

But before he could take another step, the elevator behind him opened, and the entourage of clients he was expecting stood before him, all smiles. Haibara catches up and pats Nanami’s back, forcing him to turn around as they both curtly bow in greeting. A vein protruded Nanami’s temple, and Haibara looked back to see what he was looking at. 

What he saw made him crack a small smile, his energy returning to him as he led the clients and an annoyed Nanami towards the conference room. 

Taglist: [Now Closed]

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

[kanalaure]

"average artisan has three documented works" factoid actually statistical error. curufinwe feanaro, who lived in formenos & had ten thousand works attributed to him per Year, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

much discussion of curufin "the crafty" never creating anything noteworthy but the fact that we don't have a single canonical named piece of artwork by nerdanel or miriel is like top 10 things i'll fight jirt's reanimated corpse in a car park about

[mxltifxnd0m]

drunken words ↼ d. winchester

summary: drunk you isn't the best at keeping their mouth shut

pairings: dean winchester x reader, dean winchester x gn! reader, platonic sam winchester x reader

requested: yes/no: by @traiitorjoe; thank you for sending your request!

word count: 3.0K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', none really, some cursing, a little bit of fluff, sam being a meddling little shit, some angst, kinda edited

a/n: i got this request in july and i felt so bad for having put it off for so long but here we have it! there is a potential for a pt.2 so if anyone wants that lmk lol

but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Dealing with the Winchesters always felt like a Herculean task when you would run into them while you were on a hunt. The first time you ran into them was when they barged into the farmhouse that you were staking out for a nest of vampires. They went in, guns blazing, and you cursed them out under your breath as you hurriedly left the hiding spot you were in and rushed into the nest to help them clean out. 

It was safe to say that they were surprised and confused by your anger when you guys had killed all of the vamps. You didn’t recognize them at first when they first ran into the farmhouse, but now that you were standing there and really looking at them, you instantly knew that these were the infamous Winchester brothers you’d heard from Bobby and other hunters.  

Regardless of who they were, you were furious that they had messed up the hunt that you were on, and they were on the receiving end of your fury while they looked at you dumbfounded. After you were done yelling at them, you left the farmhouse fuming and decided to leave them with the cleanup job. 

The brothers were so confused by you that they didn’t even think to ask for your name. They also were slightly scared by your fury, and they failed to realize that you clearly knew who they were, but they had no idea who you were, only that they had taken over your hunt and were really mad about it. Dean only hoped that he wouldn’t run into you ever again. 

But as fate was a fickle thing, you would run into the brothers on your next hunt in a small town in Oregon, where a witch was terrorizing the men of the town, and it just so happened that you had arrived at the station the same time they did. You had to play along with them until you got the information you needed, and then when you tried to leave the station before them, a hand slammed your door before you could get into your car. 

You turned around to be met with emerald green eyes filled with irritation and thinly veiled curiosity. 

“Did you need something Winchester?” You said with a scowl etched into your face. 

Dean scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, answers. Who the hell are you?” 

“What’s it matter to you?” 

“Because you’re a hunter and we could use some help on this case.” Sam interjected, and your eyes were ripped away from the man in front of you. You almost forgot about the taller Winchester that was lingering behind Dean. 

You raised an eyebrow at Sam while Dean’s head jerked over his shoulder and glared at his brother. Sam stared back at his brother with raised brows, sending him a look that said, ‘What? It doesn’t hurt to ask.’ 

“I don’t think your brother here is keen on working with me.” 

“You’re damn right I’m not. You went off on us for no reason and left us to clean up.” 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of them cleaning up the plethora of severed heads and bodies from that farmhouse. But you ignored Dean's words as you contemplated the offer Sam was proposing. 

“Fine I’ll help, but you’ll have to follow my lead on this one.” 

Sam nodded, agreeing with you, and sent you a dimpled smile. 

Dean opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by you slicing the air with your hand in front of his face. 

“Zip it Winchester, either you listen to me or I leave you high and dry on this hunt.” You waved around the copy of the case file that you convinced the Sheriff to give you before leaving the station. 

Dean all but glared at you and stomped towards the black Chevy Impala that was parked down the street. You couldn’t help but smirk at Dean’s grumpy attitude, and Sam told you which motel they were staying in and followed them to it. 

With three heads instead of one (more like two since Dean barely did any research and stuck you and Sam with it), you guys found the witch in no time and disposed of her swiftly. You had to admit that working with the brothers was more manageable than working on your own. But you knew that this had to be a one-off occurrence because you had heard about all of the craziness that surrounded the Winchesters. You were not keen on being pulled into any of it. 

Once the hunt was over, Sam gave you his number and told you to call if you needed help or vice versa. You took it to be polite, but you knew that you weren’t going to call them unless your life depended on it. The three of you went your separate ways before Destiny decided to play her games, and somehow, you ended up working on most of the hunts the brothers were working on. 

It’s like some higher power wanted you to work the Winchesters against your better wishes. Alas, you ended up working with them every time because you couldn’t resist Sam Winchester’s pleading puppy dog eyes. But you got on quite well with Sam, and he slowly became a good friend of yours. 

But your relationship with Dean, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say you had a mutual hatred for each other. You guys practically fought like cats and dogs anytime you interacted, and the two of you couldn’t help but let snide comments leave your lips each time the other was wrong or messed up. Both of you bickered like an old married couple that should have divorced a long time ago, so much so that Sam had to be the mediator constantly if you were to work with the brothers. If he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure if you were either going to throw a punch or fuck each other. 

Dean Winchester is an incredibly infuriating man, and you hated that you found him attractive. It wasn’t lost on you that both of the brothers were hot, like they should be on the cover of a magazine hot, but there was something about Dean that drew you to him more. You didn’t want him to know that, so you hid your attraction for him through your sarcastic demeanor. Eventually, Sam had enough of your bickering that held so much sexual tension that he locked the two of you in the motel room he and Dean were sharing until the two of you could have a civil conversation. 

Sam had left the two of you for a couple of hours. He was half expecting to find the two of you naked in Dean’s bed, but when he unlocked the door, he saw the two of you on separate beds and watching a random movie that was playing on the TV in the room.

In the time that Sam was gone, you guys had bickered and gotten in each other’s faces, but you eventually admitted that it was tiring to keep up the fact that you didn’t exactly hate Dean since the moment you met him and to your surprise, he admitted the same thing. After that, you guys sat on separate beds, finding some common ground between the two of you, and watched whatever was on the TV. 

After that incident, the two of you still argued like a married couple, but there wasn’t any heat behind your words, and it turned into friendly banter between you and the older Winchester. Months went by, and you found yourself as the unofficial third partner to the brothers, accompanying them on the majority of the hunts that they picked up.  

You didn’t know how it happened, but to your utter shock and horror, along the way of becoming friends with Dean Winchester, you developed feelings for him. Of course, you had no idea when you started to feel like this around Dean. Sam was perceptive, caught onto your change in behavior, and had basically interrogated you when he saw you glare at the woman Dean decided to take home that night, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in your chest as he left the bar the three of you were at. 

You had vehemently denied that you felt anything for Dean, but all Sam said in response was a shit-eating grin and gave you a look that said, ‘Yeah, you’re lying, and I know it.’ 

Once Sam had figured out that you liked his brother, he stopped at nothing to leave the two of you alone in hopes that you’d put on your big kid pants and admit your feelings towards him (spoiler alert, you never did). As much as you loved Sam, you honestly wanted to punch him in the face every time he urged you to tell Dean about your feelings. 

You knew that Dean wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, and you definitely knew that he wasn’t one for love or relationships, as evident with the women he picked up at bars after successful hunts. Did your heart clench any time you saw the satisfied smirk on his face the morning after the night out at the bar? You wouldn’t admit it to anyone but yourself, but yeah, it did. 

Now, after a successful hunt, you and the Winchesters found yourselves at the bar across the street from the motel you were staying in. The three of you were at a booth at the corner of the bar, and you had gotten the first round of drinks for each of you. But when Dean volunteered to grab the third round (Sam had gotten the second one), Sam said he was turning in for the night and shot you a sly smile, and you knew exactly what he meant by it. You glared at him briefly before telling him goodnight through gritted teeth (Dean had seen this interaction between you and his brother and was confused by it but brushed it off).

Sam left, and Dean turned to you. “Still want a drink?” He asked. 

You nodded in response, and Dean shot you a small smile before his knuckles knocked on the table, and he made his way toward the bar. A couple of minutes had passed, and Dean wasn’t back from the bar. You looked up from your empty glass to see him being chatted up by a woman dressed to the nines, and clearly, Dean was into her. 

You let out a harsh breath before shaking your head, getting up from the booth, heading to the opposite side of the bar Dean was at, and ordering a vodka soda. You downed in quickly and told the bartender to keep the drinks coming. You didn’t know how many you had until you heard a gruff voice telling the bartender to give you water instead of another drink. You could vaguely recognize Dean’s voice through your drunken haze. 

You turned around in your seat to see Dean right next to you with furrowed brows. “You alright there, kid?” 

Dean hadn’t seen you this drunk before, so he was half concerned but also half amused by the cute pout you had on your face. 

“M’not a kid.” You slurred out, irritated. You hated the nickname that Dean had given you; you weren’t much younger than Dean, you were the same age as Sam. 

“Then why are you pouting like you didn’t get the candy you asked for?” Dean asked, his tone amused. 

You couldn’t help but scowl at him and look around for the woman he was talking to earlier. “Where’s the girl-*hiccup* you were talking to?” You questioned, dazed. 

Dean’s face had scrunched up. “Turns out she plays for the same team.” He muttered lowly, but you managed to hear it through the bar chatter. 

You couldn’t help but burst out in drunken giggles at Dean’s failed attempt to take someone home. Dean looked at you, slightly embarrassed, but couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your laughter. 

“Okay, we should probably get you back to your room.” Dean coaxed you off of the bar stool you were sitting on before paying for the tabs and leading you out of the bar. Dean had tucked you into his side as you walked on wobbly legs across the street to the motel. 

Once you reached your room (which was coincidentally right next to the boys’ room). Dean asked where you had your key. You were leaning into Dean, so his question was spoken into your ear quietly, and it sent a shiver down your spine. 

“M’back pocket.” You mumbled out. 

You didn’t see this as your eyes were closed as you rested your head against his shoulder, but his eyes widened at the realization that he’d have to grab it from your jeans pocket. 

“If you remember this in the morning, please don’t punch me, I swear I wasn’t trying to cop a feel.” He had muttered something else under his breath, but you were too out of it to notice what he said. 

Dean managed to get your room key out of your pocket and unlocked your door. He led the two of you inside, and when you saw your bed, you quickly ripped yourself from Dean’s embrace and fell face-first into bed, uncaring if you were still in jeans. 

Dean chuckled at you, and you looked up at him with a pout. “Are you laughing at me?”  

He shook his head, trying to stifle his amusement. “No, of course not.” 

You squinted suspiciously at him before sitting up and pawing at your combat boots. You were fumbling with the laces until you felt a warm hand cover yours. You looked up and found Dean kneeling on the floor in front of you. You couldn’t help but stare at him as he untied your boots for you and pulled them off of your feet. 

“You’re pretty.” You couldn’t help but blurt out drunkenly. 

Dean laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I should get you drunk often, maybe you’ll compliment me more.” He sent you one of his smug smirks before standing up and heading toward the small kitchenette in your room.

He filled a glass with water before heading to the bathroom. He grabbed some aspirin that was stored in the medicine cabinet (you had no idea that he knew where you stored your painkillers). He came over to the bed with the water and painkillers and set them on the nightstand.

As he was bustling around your room, you had managed to wiggle off your jeans and get underneath the covers of the bed.  You looked at Dean underneath the warm lighting of the lamp that illuminated the room. His freckles were prominent in this lighting, and you couldn’t help but stare at his side profile. 

Dean noticed your intense gaze on him and smirked down at you after setting the water and aspirin on your nightstand. “See something you like?” He gently teased. Dean felt his hand twitch, trying to resist the temptation to brush back the stray hairs on your forehead. 

“Mhm, I like your face.” You smiled in a drunken bliss before your eyes fluttered. “I like you a lot actually.” You said before you felt the pull of sleep tug at your eyes. 

Your eyes shut, and your breathing evened out as you succumbed to sleep, leaving Dean standing in shock next to you. He looked down at your sleeping form before shaking his head. He’d deny the fact he felt his heartbeat quicken at your drunken admission. Dean quickly left your room and entered his shared room with Sam. 

Lucky for him, Sam was sound asleep in his bed, and Dean quickly got ready for bed, trying to ignore the fact you may or may not have shared the same feelings as he did. 

You woke up with a groan. Your head was pounding. You saw through your bleary eyes that there were some painkillers left out with a glass of water right next to them on your nightstand. You sat up as quickly as you could and grabbed the things off the nightstand. You downed some of the water before taking the aspirin and then drinking the rest of the water. 

You put the glass back on the nightstand before crawling back under the covers, wanting to let the ache in your head subside slightly before getting ready for the day. But fate was not on your side because pounding came from your door, making pain shoot through your head, and Dean waltzed into your room with a bag of food and a wide smirk on his face. 

“Rise and shine, kid!” He said enthusiastically. 

You shot up from your spot on the bed and glared at him. “I hate you. And stop calling me kid.” 

“Well, that’s not what you said last night.” Dean smirked knowingly. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach; what the hell did you say last night? “What do you mean?” 

Dean placed the food on the table before leaning on its edge. “Do you not remember what you said last night?” 

You shook your head. “Nope. Last thing I remember was you leading me out of the bar.” 

Dean's smirk faltered. He wasn’t expecting that. “You don’t remember anything at all after that?” 

“No. Why did I say anything important?” 

Dean cleared his throat, trying to seem nonchalant and hide what he was actually feeling. He shook his head. 

“Uh, no. But I got you some grub, we’re gonna head out in 30 so be ready then.” He said stiffly before leaving the room. Not looking at you once before the door closed with a click. 

You stared at the door, confused. That was probably the most awkward Dean had ever been around you. But you shook it off and decided to pack up and eat the breakfast Dean got you. 

You’d figure out what you said to Dean later. 

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

it’s 6:47am and i went “why not” so here i am reading ⬇️

You were home.

PAUSE DID I MISS SOMETHING

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti.

god this paragraph eats ur descriptions 🤌🏼 (the amber liquid, the droplets on the floor? yeahhh i know u ate with that)

It was Rafe.

ohmygod im spiraling right now

You felt a surge of nausea, your stomach churning with revulsion of yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the vivid memories of his hands around your throat making it hard to reconcile the image of him sleeping so peacefully.

what if she runs away (i would eat that up🤭)

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. The cool night air was a temporary relief, but it couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

why am i so scared of the upcoming angst

Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

stockholm syndrome (it’s not… i think)

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

he’s so protective of her i’m so in love 💍

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

THE FUCKING BUTTERFLIES 🦋

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. Barely looking at him, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you, confusion flickering across his features like a shadow passing over the sun. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it.

STOP STOP STOP

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

LET HIM IN PLS 🛐🛐

“It was a mistake.”

i’m actually holding my breath pls gigi let me breathe 😭😭😭

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in his voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

"Sorry?" he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, "Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?"

SHUT UP RAFE

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

no bc i would lose it in that room (absolutely go kill bill or disney princess cry idk yet)

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was shifting, uncertain, and unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, his voice raw with emotion, "I wanted you."

the way my stomach rolled oh my god u r incredible at creating emotions

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look

love the description of haunted had to take a sec to think what that is

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of pain and regret. “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

RAFE MY ANNOYINGLY POOR BABY

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

actually stop hurting me pls and thank u

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

THE ONLY THING KEEPING HIM TETHERED TO REALITY STFU UP

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve, “Run.”

STOP MY HEART IS RACING 🫨

Without thinking, you ran to Rafe, your heart pounding with fear and relief. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you. His lips pressed firmly against yours, and you felt his tongue gently parting your lips, exploring with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

ITS LIKE A CRIMINAL LOVE STORY PLS 😭

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

STOP STOP STOP STOP

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

i’m actually gonna kill u gigi u have no idea

As you were led out of the police station and into a waiting car, your mind raced with thoughts of him, lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

for once in ur life i need u to be crazy and jump the car

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | omg. OHMYGOD??? okay one thing i absolutely love about this chapter is your emotional development and connection. the way that reader had to pull back because of her nightmare, because of what it means to be with rafe in the real world, the way she withdraws from him and it hurts him until they get to that argument. and that ARGUMENT; rafe being vulnerable while also pushing back, while also being sharp and anger? that PIERCED MY SOUL because u did it so well i actually held my breath and stopped breathing and just stared at how well u managed to capture emotional moments without exaggerating it. then then, him looking at her face trying to memorize her features before telling her to run? to kissing her because he couldn’t stand it anymore? screaming. AND THEN HE GOT FUCKING SHOT?? i saw spoilers that he got shot but i was so wrapped in the story i FORGOT 😭 it literally took me out 😭😭😭 I NEED HER TO JUMP OUT THE COP CAR OR SOMETHING PLS STAY WITH HIM 😭

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - four

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst; gun violence; blood;

word count: 7.1k

You woke up confused staring at the oddly familiar ceiling, filled with posters ripped from the old magazines you’d gotten at a second-hand store. When you were sixteen is sounded like a great edgy idea. 

You were home.

What the—? How? 

Sitting up, the room felt stifling, the air thick with the stale smell of old wood and the faintest hint of your father’s cigarette smoke, a scent you had hoped never to encounter again. The heavy feeling in your chest wasn’t just the dread of being back; it was the oppressive memories flooding back, threatening to drown you.

The sound of a muffled argument seeped through the thin walls, pulling you back to the present.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you recognized the angry, slurred voice of your father.

He was shouting at someone, probably your brother, just like he used to. The familiar clinking of bottles and the crash of something being thrown sent a shiver down your spine.

No. This wasn't real. This couldn’t be real.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the rough carpet under your feet, grounding yourself in the moment. You stood up shakily, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. The hallway stretched out before you, longer than it should have been, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper.

As you approached the living room, the noise grew louder, more distinct. Your father’s voice, filled with venom and rage, cut through you like a knife. You reached the doorway and peered in, your breath catching in your throat. There he was, towering over your JJ, his face twisted in anger. Your little brother was cowering, trying to make himself as small as possible, his eyes filled with fear. The scene was a haunting echo of so many nights you’d tried to forget.

“No,” you whispered, fear and anger bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t happening.”

But it was.

Your father, with his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, swung the bottle in his hand dangerously close to JJ’s head. Each wave of the bottle sent droplets of amber liquid flying, dotting the floor like gruesome confetti. JJ flinched with every movement, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight made your heart ache.

“Get out of my sight, you worthless—” your father roared, his voice a terrifying growl.

“No!” you screamed, stepping into the room before you even realized you were moving. “Stop it!”

Your father turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they focused on you. For a moment, there was a flicker of confusion, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

Then, recognition set in, and his scowl deepened.

“You,” he spat, the word laced with bitterness. “You think you can just walk back in here and tell me what to do?”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in, suffocating. But you couldn’t back down, not now. Not ever again.

“Leave him alone,” you said, your voice trembling, “He’s a child!”

Your father took a menacing step toward you, the bottle still clutched in his hand. “You’ve got some nerve, coming back here and talking to me like that. Looking exactly like her!”

Every instinct screamed at you to run, but you stood your ground. “I’m not afraid of you Luke,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flashed with anger, and he raised the bottle, ready to strike. You braced yourself, every muscle tensed, waiting for the blow.

“Dad, please!” JJ’s voice broke through the tension, small and desperate. 

“Don’t hurt her.”

The plea hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to hold back the storm for just a moment. Your father’s hand wavered, his eyes darting between you and JJ.

Then, with a roar of frustration, he threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. The crash echoed through the house, a final, violent punctuation to the nightmare unfolding around you.

“You’re a coward, you know that? Hitting on your own children. You’re trash.” you spat out, the words flying from your mouth before you could stop them.

His face twisted, “What did you say to me?” He lunged at you, his hands going straight for your throat. Fear surged through you as his fingers tightened, cutting off your air supply. Your hands flew up to try and pry his grip loose, but he was too strong, too relentless, too driven.

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision. You struggled, gasping for breath, but his grip only tightened. The room started to spin, and just as you thought you might pass out, his face began to shift, blurring and changing. You blinked, trying to clear your vision, and when you opened your eyes again, it was no longer your father choking you.

It was Rafe.

Rafe's face, with a sickening grin, loomed over you. His eyes, filled with a cold, calculating malice, bore into yours. “You thought I’d be any different?” he sneered. “You signed your death sentence, pogue.”

The terror was overwhelming, a wave of cold dread washing over you. 

Your heart pounded frantically against your ribs, but you couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. His grip was like iron, unyielding and merciless.

You fought against him with all your strength, but it felt like trying to move through quicksand. Every movement was sluggish, every attempt to break free met with resistance. The walls around you seemed to close in, the room becoming a claustrophobic prison.

As the edges of your vision began to fade, a new sound cut through the suffocating haze – JJ’s voice, calling your name. “Sis! Please, wake up! Wake up!”

With a final, desperate burst of energy, you tore yourself away from Rafe, his grip suddenly gone. You were falling, tumbling through darkness, and then–

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, your body drenched in sweat. The familiar ceiling of the motel room came into focus. The terror of the nightmare clung to you, and it made it hard to breathe.

Your hands went to your throat, feeling for bruises that weren’t there. It was just a dream, you told yourself, trying to calm your racing heart. Just a nightmare.

As your breath began to steady, you turned your head, feeling the sheets rustle against your skin.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and your heart sank when you saw Rafe lying next to you, his chest rising and falling in a deep, peaceful slumber. He was naked, his body partially covered by the sheets, a stark reminder of what you’d done hours ago.

You felt a surge of nausea, your stomach churning with revulsion of yourself. The nightmare still clung to you, the vivid memories of his hands around your throat making it hard to reconcile the image of him sleeping so peacefully. You quietly slipped out of bed, trying not to wake him, and grabbed your clothes, dressing quickly.

Standing in the small bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the remnants of the dream. The coolness against your skin brought a brief sense of clarity, but it didn’t banish the lingering sense of dread. You looked at yourself in the mirror, your reflection pale and haunted.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You had to get out of here, clear your head, and figure out what to do next. Slipping out of the bathroom, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand, sneaking one last look at Rafe. He was still asleep, completely unaware of the fear inside you.

The motel hallway was dark and quiet, with the faint hum of the vending machine being the only noise. You made your way to the exit, and the cool night air hit you like a splash of reality. It felt like you were stepping out of one world and into another, the contrast so stark and jarring. 

You took a few more steps, but your vision blurred, and you felt lightheaded. You slumped against the wall, struggling to catch your breath.

The panic attack hit you full force, your chest tightening, and your mind racing. You couldn't let Rafe see you like this. You couldn't let anyone see you like this. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to focus on something, anything, to calm yourself down. You started counting your breaths, focusing on each inhale and exhale, trying to slow your racing heart. You thought of JJ, of how much he needed you to be strong. You couldn't fall apart now, not when there was so much at stake.

You kept counting, kept breathing, the cool air helping to clear your head. Slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease. The world started to come back into focus, the shadows in the hallway retreating.

You wiped away the tears that had slipped down your cheeks and stood up, feeling a little more in control.

Sleeping around—no, not just sleeping, practically baring your soul to one of the people that had destroyed your life? That had taunted and beaten your brother? Your friends? That killed a cop and got away with it? The thoughts circled in your mind, relentless and unforgiving. The cool night air was a temporary relief, but it couldn’t wash away the shame eating you alive. How did it come to this? How did you go from hating Rafe to being tangled up with him like this? 

You thought of JJ, of your friends, the people who had been there for you through everything. They’d never understand.

Hell, you didn’t even understand it yourself. You stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You had to sort through this mess, had to figure out what was real and what was just the lingering effects of captivity and longing. Maybe you were holding on to the only person who managed to pull you out of Ward’s grasp, fooling yourself into finding some good in someone who had caused so much pain. 

An hour later, you made your way back to the motel. Each step felt like a struggle, the guilt and self-doubt threatening to consume you entirely. You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd betrayed everything you stood for by letting Rafe into your life, even if it was just for a moment of weakness.

As you approached the entrance, you saw him standing at the front desk, looking worried and disheveled. He must have just woken up, throwing on some shorts in a hurry. His expression was tense as he spoke to the front desk guy, hands moving rapidly, gesturing around. 

Your pulse pounded as you walked in, not sure of what to say, what to do, how to approach him. The memory of the nightmare still lingered, haunting you like a specter refusing to be exorcised.

Rafe's voice cut through the air, his tone urgent, "How the fuck did you not see her leave? Did someone take her?”

The front desk guy shook his head, his expression apologetic. "I apologize sir, but I haven't seen anyone come through here."

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, revealing yourself to him. "I'm here," you said quietly, voice rough from not speaking since you woke up.

Rafe's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening in relief as he caught sight of you. "Thank God," he breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “Fucking hell, Maybank.”

His arms were around you in an instant, his warmth enveloping you. His hands rested gently on your back; fingers splayed wide. For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace for the last time, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly. Barely looking at him, you pushed him away, your movements sharp. His hands fell away from you, confusion flickering across his features like a shadow passing over the sun. The hurt in his eyes cut through you like a punch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it.

You took a step back, putting some distance between you and Rafe, needing the space to breathe, to think, to figure out what comes next.

Your gaze flickered to the floor, unable to meet his eyes, unable to face the consequences of your actions, "Just needed some air," you muttered, your voice barely audible even to yourself, “Sorry for not leaving a note.”

Rafe's expression shifted from relief to concern as he watched you, his brows furrowing with worry.

"You okay?"

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, "I'm fine," you replied, your voice lacking conviction even to your own ears. "Just felt a little nauseous.”

His hand reached out tentatively as if he wanted to comfort you, but he hesitated, letting it fall back to his side. “I just woke up and you were gone, and I...I panicked."

You hated the fact you could pinpoint the sincerity in his voice so easily. It nearly killed you. 

“We should go back.”

"Will you... will you be okay?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, trying to muster up a reassuring smile, but it felt hollow and insincere. "I'll be fine," you lied, the words tasted bitter on your tongue, “Just need some rest.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s go back.”

As you stepped inside the room, the early sunlight washed over Rafe's face, highlighting the worry etched into his features. He watched you carefully, as if afraid you would’ve disappeared again at any moment. He tried to reach out and grab your arm, but you moved too quickly, and he was left grasping air.

You offered him a weak smile, ignoring the look on his face, "I'm sorry for leaving like that," you said, your voice tinged with genuine regret. "I’m fine.”

You didn’t think he believed you. He was watching you so closely. He took in how disheveled you looked. The mess of your hair, and barely laced-up shoes so you could get out the door faster. Rafe’s eyes pierce into your own, searching them for something as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

It took several tense moments before he finally spoke, “Is this about last night?”

Your body froze, panic taking over every single one of your muscles. What were you supposed to tell him? Lie? Tell him the truth and make him hate himself even more? Keep your pain down to hold his?

“It was a mistake.”

You went straight to the chase.

He stalked closer to you, and you took a step back reflexively, “A mistake?” he echoed between labored breaths, “A mistake?”

“Yeah," you stammered, trying to articulate your thoughts, "It's not right. We, we're just lonely."

You despised yourself for even hinting at it, but the tumultuous month spent with him had been bewildering, to say the least. You questioned whether you were truly good for each other.

"I thought..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

The pain in his voice pierced your skin, a reminder of the consequences of your actions. But you needed to put yourself first.

“I’m sorry.”

Rafe's face contorted, his features tightening into a mask of disbelief. And you couldn’t blame him for whatever he was about to unleash on you.

“So, what? You're just gonna walk away?" He tried to bark, but his voice quivered from grief, “Stop looking at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He scoffed, lips twisting into a sneer, as he started to pace around the room, his movements restless and agitated. “That’s funny.”

Rafe could act cold and stoic all he wanted; you could hear the hurt in your voice and sense the sadness in the words. He sounded broken.

"You're angry,” Your mouth ran dry, your heart lurching into your throat. "I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he seethed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, “Angry? You think you mean enough to me to make me angry?”

His words struck you like a physical blow, a slap to the face. You recoiled instinctively, the weight of his fury bearing down on you. 

"I don't know what I mean to you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I just know that I can't keep doing this."

Rafe's laughter was bitter and mocking, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls of the room.

"Can't keep doing this?" he repeated, his voice laced with derision. "And what, exactly, is 'this'? Fucking? You can’t even say it.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

"An asshole?" he spat, "Is that what you think of me?"

You held his gaze, refusing to back down despite the hurting coursing through your veins. "You're acting like one.”

“Maybank,” His voice was still harsh as he lowered his head to try and meet your eyes. He was close enough that you were able to smell him, "You don't know anything about me, remember? Maybe the fucking really did confuse you.”

“Stop it,” Your voice broke a little, fighting the waterworks that were threatening to run down your cheeks, “Stop making it sound like it meant nothing to you.”

His eyes shut tightly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s wrong! Rafe—don’t you see it? I can’t do this, not with you of all fucking people, okay?”

He looked down at the carpet, a look of shame falling over his features as he ran a hand over his face, “You knew who I was since the beginning.”

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, mingling with the anguish that threatened to overwhelm your senses. "Yeah, and every time I look at you now, I see everything that's wrong with me."

“And whose fault is that? Hmm? You said you didn’t want to stop. You wanted it, you wanted me.”

You staggered back, feeling as if the ground beneath your feet was shifting, uncertain, and unsteady.

"I wanted it," Rafe repeated, fingers digging into his chest, his voice raw with emotion, "I wanted you."

The admission hung in the air between you, everything left unsaid. You wanted to reach out to him, hug him as you had just hours ago, but you knew you couldn’t.

“We can’t.”

His eyes were slightly dewy, a somewhat defeated look to his gaze as he walked towards the door.

“Well, congrats Maybank. You won.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed through the room, the finality of it hitting you like a punch to the gut. You stood there, motionless, as the silence enveloped you. The weight of everything that had just transpired pressed down on your shoulders, threatening to crush you.

You sank to the floor, your back against the wall, and the tears came in a torrent. Sobs wracked your body, each one more painful than the last, as the reality of your situation washed over you. You had pushed him away, and hurt him, but what other choice did you have? 

The quiet was almost eerie. 

You couldn't deny that you had felt something for Rafe, something more than just anger and resentment.

But it was twisted, born out of shared trauma and desperation, wasn’t it? Wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands, you tried to gather yourself. You still needed to get home. In five days. How the fuck were you going to live in the same room with Rafe for five days after what went down? You couldn’t, you needed the money to pay off the men taking you back home.

You sat on the motel room floor for what felt like hours, the silence pressing in on you.

The weight of your words, of the confrontation, was suffocating. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and you crawled into bed, your mind too restless to allow for more than fitful dozing.

It was around 4 a.m. when the door to the motel room creaked open, startling you awake. You sat up, your heart pounding, straining to see in the dark. The figure that stumbled through the door was unmistakable: Rafe. His movements were unsteady, his clothes disheveled, and the sharp scent of alcohol hit you even from across the room.

“Rafe?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned heavily against the doorframe, his eyes unfocused. He looked lost.

The anger that had driven him was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost haunted look. You had done that to him. You got out of bed, approaching him cautiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry.

He finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a mix of pain and regret. “I... I couldn’t stay away,” he slurred, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol. “I tried, but...”

You sighed, the concern battling within you.

“Rafe, you’re drunk. You need to sit down.”

He let you guide him to the bed, his body heavy and uncooperative. Once he was seated, you grabbed a bottle of water from the small table and handed it to him.

“Drink this,” you instructed.

He took a sip, his hands shaking slightly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “For everything.”

It was the first time he ever apologized to you. You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was okay, but another part of you was still reeling from the emotional whirlwind of the past few days. 

“You need to sleep this off,” you said instead, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nodded but didn’t move. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want to be like him,” he confessed, “I can't."

If you allowed him to keep sputtering out his drunken thoughts you would’ve ended up crying your eyes out again, so instead you squeezed his hand, “Let’s just sleep, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes drifting shut as the exhaustion and alcohol finally took their toll. You helped him lie down, covering him with the sheets. As you laid back down, you watched Rafe’s breathing even out, his face softening in sleep. 

The next few days passed in a blur of tension and silence. That night?

It never happened.

Rafe didn’t spare you a glance from the moment he woke up, choosing to care for his hangover by himself. You and he moved around each other like ghosts, the motel room becoming a prison. You barely slept, the nightmares coming back with a vengeance, leaving you exhausted and on edge.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your father, Rafe, or the haunting echoes of your past, blending into a relentless cycle of fear and regret. You knew he’d been having nightmares as well, but you pretended to be asleep every time he woke up, chest heaving. 

He seemed so caught in his torment. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, the way his hands would flex into fists and then relax as if he was battling some inner demon. He avoided you, constantly, and when he did speak, his words were clipped and distant. Your shared meals were silent, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. 

Even the TV stayed off.

On the fifth night, you lay awake in the dark, listening to the rhythm of Rafe's breathing from the other bed. It was uneven, indicating he was also awake. 

“You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Rafe's breathing hitched, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the darkness.

"I mean it," you continued, turning slightly to face his silhouette. "You're not your father, Rafe."

He didn't respond immediately, but you sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in his posture. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy and laden with years of unspoken fears and insecurities.

"How can you be so sure?" he murmured, his voice raw.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Because I've seen you. I've seen the parts of you that fight against becoming him. The parts that want to be better. And that matters."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure it’s enough.”

“It is.”

“It’s not, Maybank. I’ve done enough damage for a lifetime. It’s the reason why you’re sleeping on the other side of the bed instead of right next to me.”

You wanted to reach out, to reassure him that he wasn’t alone, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. 

“I’m still here,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m not leaving.”

“You already did.”

Ouch.

Before you could utter a single word, he turned his back to you.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Sleep.”

“Rafe—”

“Goodnight.”

It took you hours to fall asleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the past weeks replaying in your mind. You thought of Rafe, of the hurt in his eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

The next morning, you didn’t bother much with packing, only shoving the pieces of clothing you’d collected in a backpack. It felt torturous, to be so close to Rafe yet so far away. He didn’t speak a word as he packed his things, his movements stiff and mechanical. You wanted to break the silence, but every time you opened your mouth, the words seemed to stick in your throat. The taxi drive to the port was just as unbearable. You stared out the window, watching the landscape blur past, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have been, what should have been. 

Once you arrived, you and Rafe stepped out, the silence between you as impenetrable as ever. The boat that would take you both back home loomed ahead. He took the lead, heading towards the ticket booth with his shoulders hunched, and you followed, your steps heavy with reluctance.

You were still scared shitless of those men. They were only helping you because at some point Rafe had helped them smuggle drugs into the States, and that did not leave you the least bit reassured over their intentions. 

Finding a spot on the deck, you both settled into a tense silence, the hum of the boat’s engine and the cries of seagulls filling the void between you. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the water, but the beauty of the scene did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his face a mask void of any emotion.

You watched him for a moment, torn between wanting to reach out to him and the fear that doing so would only make things worse.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you cleared your throat. “Rafe,” you began hesitantly, “I—”

Before you could finish, he turned to you, his expression weary. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said, his voice flat. “Not now.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

“Just stay low, stay quiet. My dad got eyes everywhere.”

From the corner of your eye you spotted one of the men. Tall, burly, with a scar running down his cheek. He simply nodded towards the cargo boat and for a minute you’re taken back to your first day stuck with the Cameron’s, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

Rafe walked in front of you again, entering the ship, rounding his way through the halls behind the sketchy guy, only stopping when he knocked on a door, after a moment, it swung open to reveal a bald shot man, eyes way too big for his face, which flicked over you and Rafe, a predatory smile curling his lips.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You’re late.”

“Had some complications,” Rafe replied curtly, his posture tense.

The man’s smile widened. “Complications, huh? Well, come on in”

You followed Rafe inside, your heart racing. The interior of the room was pretty dark, the air thick with the smell of smoke and something you couldn’t quite identify. Nor did you want to. 

“Rafe,” the older man said, his voice cold and commanding. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about our arrangement.”

“Never,” Rafe replied, his tone clipped. “I brought the money.”

He handed over a thick envelope, and the man behind the desk took it, flipping through the bills with a practiced eye. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Now, let’s discuss the other part of our deal.”

Rafe stiffened. “I told you, I’m out. I’m not running anything for you anymore.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, his smile turning dangerous. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t get to just walk away.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as the tension in the room escalated. The man behind the desk stood up, his gaze shifting to you.

“And who’s this?” he asked, his tone menacing.

“No one,” Rafe said quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

The man chuckled, a low, sinister sound. “Oh, I think she has everything to do with this.”

He took a step towards you, and instinctively, you backed away, your heart pounding in your chest. Rafe moved to place himself between you and the older man, his jaw clenched.

“Leave her out of this.”

“You see, your daddy dearest called in last night. Told me about a loose piece he had to get rid off…a pretty one. Guess this is her?”

"That's none of your business," Rafe growled, his voice filled with a warning, body still shielding yours.

The older man laughed, the sound grating against your nerves. "Oh, but it is my business, Rafe. You see, your daddy and I, we go way back. And when he asks for a favor, I don't say no."

You felt a surge of terror at his words, your mind racing to find a way out of this situation. "Rafe, we need to go," you whispered urgently, tugging on his arm.

He didn't move, his eyes locked on the man before him. "We're leaving," Rafe said firmly, his voice unwavering. "Now."

The man smirked, his gaze shifting between you and Rafe. "You think you can just walk out of here? You're in deep, Cameron. And now, so is she."

Rafe's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. "We're not doing this.”

The older man took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. 

"You have two choices, Rafe. You either do as I say, or she pays the price like Ward asked.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn't let Rafe get pulled back into this world, but you also couldn't bear the thought of what might happen if you stayed.

"Rafe, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s gaze flicked to you as if he was memorizing your features, from your eyes down to your lips. You could see the gears turning inside his brain and it made you sick to your stomach when he took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve, “Run.”

Before you could process his words, Rafe launched himself at the older man, tackling him to the ground. The suddenness of the movement caught everyone off guard, but you knew you had to act quickly. Heart pounding, you turned and bolted out of the room, dropping your backpack in the process, your footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor.

Behind you, you could hear the sounds of struggle—grunts, crashes, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. You didn’t dare look back, knowing that every second counted. Rafe had told you to run.

The ship's layout was confusing, with identical-looking hallways and doors leading to who-knew-where. You sprinted through the maze of metal and dim lights, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The distant sound of shouting and commotion indicated that the fight was far from over. You turned a corner and collided with one of the burly men from earlier. He grabbed your arm, his grip like a vise.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

Panic surged through you, but you fought it down, remembering the self-defense moves Rafe had taught you back at Ward’s island. You stomped on his foot and jabbed your elbow into his ribs, wrenching your arm free as he grunted in pain. Without wasting a second, you continued running, your legs burning with effort.

You burst onto the deck, the cold, salty air hitting you like a slap. The early morning light was just beginning to brighten the horizon, casting long shadows across the deck. You looked around frantically, searching for any means of escape. Your eyes landed on a lifeboat secured to the side of the ship. Without hesitation, you made your way towards it, fumbling with the ropes that held it in place. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to free the boat. As you were about to lower it into the water, a rough hand grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. It was the man with the scar, his face twisted in anger.

“Going somewhere?” he sneered.

You tried to fight him off, but he was too strong.

Just when you thought all hope was lost, a loud bang echoed across the deck. The man with the scar froze, his grip loosening. You took the opportunity to break free, scrambling away from him.

Rafe stood at the entrance to the deck, a gun in his hand and determination in his eyes. The man with the scar raised his hands slowly, backing away.

“You okay?” Rafe asked, his voice tight with concern.

“I think so.”

“Come here.”

Without thinking, you ran to Rafe, your heart pounding with fear and relief. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and gently pulled you back, his eyes searching yours to make sure you were okay, but before you could assure him you were fine, he kissed you. His lips pressed firmly against yours, and you felt his tongue gently parting your lips, exploring with a tenderness that made your knees weak. It felt so…real, it nearly brought you to your knees. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time stood still for you, the rest of the world ceasing to exist. 

Until reality broke you again.

Rafe's body tensed suddenly. You heard a muffled sound, like a distant pop, but it took a moment for your mind to register what had happened. His grip on you loosened, and he staggered, his breath hitching in pain.

No, no, no, no.

"Rafe?” You caught him as he fell to his knees, eyes darting around, searching for the source of the shot. Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched a showdown between the so-called human traffickers and the fucking police. This had to be a fucking nightmare, no way, were you getting caught in a crossfire. 

Rafe clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt. His face was scarily pale, and he struggled to stay upright.

"You need to...get out of here," he managed to say, his voice strained, “Right now.”

“I’m not leaving you, you fuckin—Shit, Rafe. Fuck!” You looked around frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. The island, which had seemed like a safe haven moments ago, now felt like a trap. "Can you walk?" you asked, trying to keep the panic from your voice.

“Does it look like I can walk, pretty Maybank?”

A sob broke through you, “Don’t try to be fucking funny, you got shot!”

“Baby, you—“ he coughed, blood seeping through his teeth, "You gotta go home.”

"Stop talking!" you repeated, your voice trembling with desperation. You looked around again, trying to find a way out, a way to save him, anything. But the chaos around you was overwhelming. The police and the traffickers were engaged in a fierce shootout, bullets whizzing through the air, ricocheting off metal, and splintering wood.

Rafe's hand tightened weakly around yours.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice just a whisper. "You have to...Go gome."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head. "I can't leave you here."

You knew you had to move, had to find help, but leaving him there felt like tearing your heart out. As you turned to peek around one final time, you heard a shout from behind you. "Freeze!" a police officer yelled, his gun trained on you.

You stopped, your hands raised, your mind racing. "Please, help him," you begged, pointing to Rafe. "He's been shot."

The officer's eyes flicked to Rafe, then back to you. "We need to secure the area first," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

"Please," you repeated, your voice breaking. "He's dying."

The officer hesitated, then spoke into his radio. "Officer down, need medical assistance immediately."

Another officer approached, his gun drawn, and you saw his gaze soften as he took in Rafe's condition. "We'll get him help," he assured you, "but we need to get you out of here safely."

“I’m not leaving without him,” You made the mistake to glance back one last time, your heart breaking as you saw Rafe's eyes close, his body slumping against the ground, “No, no, no! Keep your eyes open, I swear to god—” Your hands trembled as you tried to staunch the flow of blood with your already stained clothing, "Stay with me," you pleaded, your voice cracking. 

His eyes fluttered open briefly, a weak smile touching his lips.

"You... have to... go," he whispered, his breath coming in shallow gasps, "Go."

Before you could respond, you felt strong hands grip your shoulders, pulling you back. "We need to get you to safety," one of the officers said firmly, trying to drag you away from Rafe.

"No! Let me go! I can't leave him!" you screamed, fighting against their hold.

"Ma'am, we need to get you out of the line of fire," the officer insisted, his grip tightening as he pulled you to your feet.

Through your tears, you saw more officers surrounding Rafe, their voices urgent as they called for medical assistance. You watched helplessly as they began to administer first aid, their movements efficient but hurried. As the officers dragged you away against your will, your eyes never left Rafe. 

You struggled against their hold, but their grip was unyielding. "Please, don't let him die," you sobbed, your voice breaking with despair.

"We're doing everything we can," one of the officers reassured you, guiding you towards the edge of the deck where a police boat was waiting.

You stumbled, your legs weak with fear and exhaustion, but the officers held you steady. As you were helped onto the police boat, you turned back one last time, your heart breaking at the sight of Rafe lying on the deck, surrounded by officers and paramedics. You clutched the railing, your knuckles white, as the boat pulled away from the ship, the distance between you and Rafe growing with each passing second.

The journey back to shore was a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and the distant sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air. The police officers tried to reassure you, but their words were lost in the whirlwind of your thoughts.

When the boat finally docked, you were met by a flurry of activity. Paramedics rushed forward, checking you for injuries, while police officers asked you questions about what had happened. You answered them mechanically, your mind still focused on Rafe, praying that he would survive. Hours seemed to pass in a haze of questions, medical checks, and statements. You told them everything. Finally, you were allowed to sit down, your body heavy with exhaustion. A police officer approached you, his expression kind but serious.

"Rafe Cameron is being taken to the hospital," he said gently. "He's in critical condition, but the paramedics are doing everything they can."

You nodded numbly, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Can I see him?"

“’No visitors will be allowed, kid. We checked your backgrounds. If he survives, he’ll be taken into custody, his father is Ward Cameron, the feds are going to need him.”

You nearly threw up at how easily he said, “if he survives”. There couldn’t be no fucking ifs, he wasn’t dying. Not like this. Not after everything. 

Your knees buckled, and you had to sit down, the reality of the situation pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. The officer helped you to a bench, his face sympathetic but firm. “I understand this is hard, but we need to follow protocol. He’s a key witness and suspect in multiple ongoing investigations.”

You nodded, your mind barely processing his words. The world felt distant, and surreal. “Can I at least know which hospital?”

The officer hesitated for a moment, then relented. “St. Michael’s. But you won’t be allowed to call until we clear things with the authorities.”

“Call? I want to visit.”

He sighed, taking a seat next to you, “Kid. I’m really sorry, but you won’t be here. You’re a kidnapping victim and there’s a direct order to take you back home, you’ve been reported missing for over a month now.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the officer's words. Missing? For over a month? It felt like a lifetime and no time at all had passed since you'd been caught up in this nightmare.

"I can't leave him," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Not like this."

The officer's expression softened. "I understand, but this is out of my hands. We need to get you back to your family. They'll be worried sick."

What family?

You wanted to shout in his face. JJ was still missing for all you knew and Luke hadn't stepped foot home in months. You felt a surge of helplessness.

“I can't just leave him."

The officer looked taken aback but remained resolute. "We're going to get you home safely. You'll be able to follow up on Rafe's condition, but right now, you need to come with us."

The officer stood up, motioning for you to follow. Reluctantly, you got to your feet, every step feeling like a betrayal to Rafe.

As you were led out of the police station and into a waiting car, your mind raced with thoughts of him , lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, by himself. You couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone, without knowing that you were there for him.

If he ever woke up.

[gibberishfangirl]

WINDBREAKER | i crumble completely when you cry

Synopsis ✰ you caught a bad case of the blues

Characters ✰ Haruka Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Mitsuki Kiryu, Jo Togame

Contains ✰ sfw!, crying, them trying to comfort you, lots of hugs, kisses, established relationship, bottled up emotions, reader is stressed/sad, seasonal depression, reader has self doubt, anxiety is implied, angst with a good dose of fluff, boyfriends are boyfriending

Haruka Sakura ᡣ𐭩

man… you’ve been so mean to him all day. ‘what’s her problem’ sakura couldn’t help but ask himself that question on repeat. the way you shoved him off whenever you walked past him, avoiding eye contact, and ignoring him whenever he tried to talk to you. he was tired of it, you’ve been like this for days. he could feel himself getting more frustrated the more you shut him out of your life. he was going to talk to you today if it was the last thing he’ll do. “hey can we talk?” “no.” you curved him with a harsh reply as you walked past him once again. five. that was the fifth time you did that this day. you disappeared out of his sight while he processed the amount of times you shut him down.

sakura let out an exhausted sigh as he continued to walk down every street looking for you. where could you even be at this time? he was getting hungry and it’s late he just wanted to make sure you at least got home safe at this point. he considered going into your guys’ favorite diner to catch some food and see if you were around the area. he eventually figured why not and made his way over there only to be stopped in his footsteps as he heard soft sniffling and sobs coming from the small neighborhood park. he felt his heart drop at the sound as the whimpers sounded too familiar to his ears for his liking. he hated that sound. mainly because he hated you being so sad.

he felt like an idiot. you were sad not angry this whole time and he couldn’t tell the difference. Sakura quietly made his way into the park when he spotted you crying on the swing set all by yourself. he took a seat on the swing next to you before opening his mouth “you okay?” you instantly recognized his voice but couldn’t respond from the choked up sobs you were letting out. the most you could do was shake your head no as you tried to stop crying. Sakura rubbed small circles on your back as you continued to sob and choke on your tears struggling to catch your breath. you rubbed your eyes with your sweater as an attempt to stop the tears.

“c’mere it’s okay.” sakura guided you off the swing and into his lap as your sobs reduced to small hiccups. sakura would be a liar if he said seeing you like this didn’t break his heart or make him feel sad as well. he hates to see you not be yourself. nonetheless he accepted your affection as you wrapped your arms around his neck and snuggled into him. “‘m sorry i was so mean to you.” your voice cracked as you apologized. sakura continued to massage your back, “it’s okay, y’know you could’ve told me if you were just feeling down.” “i-i-i-knowididntnwant-wan-you to-worry.” you blurted out as fast as you could in between sobs. to anyone else it might’ve just sounded like gibberish but sakura understood what you were trying to say. “i’ll always worry about you regardless.” sakura admits with a blush, slightly thankful you couldn’t see it as your head was buried into his neck. he consoled you for as long as you needed never breaking the grasp he had on you. he didn’t want to let go until he knew you were ready.

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

of course Ume knew something was wrong. he’s a lot more observant than he leads others to believe. especially when it comes to you, he notices everything about you. he knows you better than he even knows himself. which is why he couldn’t stand the way your eyes were swollen and puffy from the previous nights you obviously spent crying. despite trying your best to conceal it with make up or fake smiles he knew. it made him feel bad to think there was something you wouldn’t want him to know about. of course it was your right to choose what you wanted to keep yourself but it still hurt him to not be able to be there for you the way he wishes he could be.

if you didn’t want to talk, that’s okay. he’d never force you to if you weren’t ready, it’s not his right. for now he’d accept being there for you as he laid on the hammock with you on his chest. you both sat in silence as he listened to your faint heartbeat and small inhales and exhales. he grew worried when he felt your breathing become unsteady. he took a moment to stop looking up at the sky and tilted his head down to you. your hair was covering most of your expression so he tucked some of it behind your ear to get a better look at you. “there you are~ my pretty lover.” he coo’d at the sight of your face while you scoffed in response. “wanna tell me what’s wrong now?” he gently asked you unsure if he should’ve asked at all. he slightly regretted it once he saw tears prickle in your eyes. the way he could visibly notice giant tear drops gathering at the bottom of your eyes.

“don’t know what’s wrong with me. i might just be crazy.” you mumbled against his chest as tears streamed down your face. “ah don’t say that you’re not crazy. it’s normal.” he reassures you, playing with the strands of your hair just the way you like as he slightly massaged your scalp. “doesn’t feel normal.” “doesn’t mean it’s not okay.” “i’m just sad.” “it’s okay to be sad sometimes, just gotta talk through it and fight it okay? don’t let it swallow you whole.” “that’s hard.” “yeah… well that’s why you have me. i’m always here to help.” Ume gently reassured you before placing the softest kiss on the top of your head. it was so soft you almost missed it.

“you don’t ever wish you were with someone more normal?” “and miss out on someone as amazing as you? nah.” “i think you could find better.” “what a silly thing to say.” Ume couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his mouth. in his perspective it truly was such a silly thing for you to say since it didn’t get better than this in his eyes. you were the best that he could ever find in this world and he has no intention on letting that go ever. “it’s not funny!” you’d pout finally looking up at him with tear stained eyes. “you’re right, it’s not. you should never think i could possibly find someone as perfect as you are.” he agreed with you but not in the way you thought he would. Ume couldn’t help himself as he pulled you up closer to him so your faces can align. he placed a kiss on your lips, another two on the corners of your mouth, another two on each side of your cheeks, one near the corner of your left eye, another near the corner of right eye, and lastly one on your forehead. Ume would kiss your tear stained face for as long as he needed to in order to stop those evil thoughts from entering your head.

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

Suo couldn’t really pinpoint what was wrong. despite him being pretty well at reading people and understanding where someone is coming from he couldn’t tell what was happening. had something happened recently to cause such a change in you? did he do something wrong? all he could do was watch you sadly as you poked around your ice cream barely consuming any of it. it took you forever to finish it, and it was your favorite ice cream. normally you would’ve finished it quickly while telling him a funny story that happened between you and your friend. the date night between you two was spent in silence for the most part despite his attempts to perk up the conversation. maybe you were done with him? maybe you were finally over the relationship? his mood was going down the drain the more he wondered what was this tension surrounding the two of you.

“you okay suo? you seem upset.” the sound of your soft spoken voice snapped him out of thoughts. he looked at your eyes and now that he thought about it… he’s never seen you with such sad eyes before. your eyes were drained and had no light in them yet here you were asking and caring about him. you reached over to feel his forehead “mm’ your a bit warm. we should get you inside you can get sick.” you insisted taking him by the hand and leading him back to your home. once the two of you got to your place you laid in bed together and you asked again “you sure you’re fine? i don’t want you feeling bad.” while cuddling closer to him. all the negative thoughts Suo was thinking earlier vanished. of course you still loved him, you wouldn’t act this way if you didn’t. but still… you weren’t happy and he didn’t know how to help.

“are you okay?” he finally asked. “huh? why wouldn’t i be?” “your eyes. they look sad.” “oh…” you could feel your own face heat up, you didn’t think he’d notice but of course he did. Suo noticed everything. “i don’t really want to talk about it right now.” you sheepishly admitted. you felt a bit cowardly about not being able to open up about the random sadness that tended to pain your chest every once in a while. you always struggled with opening up about this situation and never knew how to word things which is why you tended to avoid it as much as you could. “that’s okay. we’ll talk when you’re ready. i’ll just hold you for now if that’s okay.” “that’s more than okay.” you sighed in relief, glad he didn’t push the topic further. you felt the tension that had burden you all day lift off your shoulders for that night. having someone who can understand you in silence and comfort you was all you could wish for in that moment. sometimes you didn’t want to talk, you just wanted to be held.

something Suo would always do for you: he’ll hold you and never let go. some people couldn’t handle silence but you were glad suo was so understanding and understood it in the same way you did. words couldn’t describe the amount of relief and comfort you felt once you woke up in the morning to find yourself still in suo’s arm. his grip on you never weakening as your eyes met the soft sleeping expression worn on his face. it felt nice to snuggle into him and listen to the bass of his heartbeat knowing he’d never leave no matter how hard things got. it filled you up with hope that bad days don’t last forever and that they will go away.

Mitsuki Kiryu ᡣ𐭩

he couldn’t stand the way your eyes puffed up from the amount of crying you were doing. he hated to see how sad you were like any other good boyfriend would. he would wipe your tears carefully as he held your face. he’d take in your facial expressions as you sniffled and rubbed your eyes. you avoided any type of eye contact with him, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about how wrong this hang out went. the two of you were at a party, you thought it’d help cheer you up but you ended up getting overwhelmed. Kiryu was the first to realize you were upset and took you outside for some fresh air. he knew you were at a vulnerable place and kept you perfectly hidden from sight with his body. you didn’t want anyone else seeing you like this. “you okay love? wanna leave? we can go home.” Kiryu wasn’t sure of what exactly triggered this response from you but his utmost concern was getting you comfortable.

“yeah. let’s go, wanna go home.” you replied shyly still avoiding his caring gaze. Kiryu guided you away from the scene, he didn’t even bother saying goodbye to anyone. once the two of you got home he grew even more worried considering the fact that you hadn’t stopped crying. the only difference was your cry became more silent over time. you sat on the bed as Kiryu helped undress you. carefully taking off your jacket and shoes, he treated you like a fragile porcelain doll. you didn’t fight back his help and laid on the bed to cuddle up with a pillow. he’d sit on the edge next to you as he pushed your hair out of your face. he’d trace the sides of your face with his gentle soft fingers. “want some hot chocolate? might make you feel better.” he’d offer. he assumed from your complete silence you didn’t want to talk about it so he moved on to doing anything else he can to cheer you up. you felt like your voice would give out on you if you tried to respond so you settled with a small nod.

“kay, be right back in a few minutes.” he’d press a gentle kiss on your cheek and wrap a blanket around you before heading out. just like he promised he was back within a few minutes with a nice cup of hot chocolate. he sat back on the edge of the bed and softly blew into the cup wanting to make sure it wouldn’t be too hot for you. he was relieved to see you more calm, your hiccups and soft sobs were gone as you gained the energy to sit back up. he brought his hand behind your back to give you a small massage while he used his free hand to bring up the cup to you. the sip of the hot tasty substance really helped you calm your nerves. “thank you.” you mumbled with a blush finally meeting his eye. the small gesture of you meeting his eyes had Kiryu smiling. he was glad you finally were able to meet his gaze after all this time. “of course. let me get you some pj’s” he offered already getting a set out for you from his closet.

“c’mon lemme help you.” he insisted resting his hands on the buckle of your jeans. he wouldn’t pursue action without your full consent. “i-no! you shouldn’t. that’s… embarrassing… isn’t it?” you blushed furiously. this whole conversation was almost enough to make you forget about your previous crying session. “embarrassing?? no. it isn’t why should it be? i want to take care of you.” he giggled playfully. his voice and loving eyes cracked a small smile out of you for the first time this night. especially with the way his voice was laced with pure genuine love. “oh… okay then.” you weren’t used to others going out of their way to care or cheer you up the way Kiryu was doing right now. it felt nice and comforting to know someone like this would be in your corner at all times. Kiryu’s love goes above and beyond for you even if you were in dark times. he’d help guide you back to happiness and care for you each step of the way. he wouldn’t push on the subject until you were comfortable.

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

Jo can always get the hint when you’re feeling down. hes very observant so it’s easy for him to catch any small detail about you even if you assume he didn’t notice. so when he noticed your blues coming in and your distant behavior his first thought was wondering if someone did anything to you. but when you never came to him for help he figured it wasn’t that. you knew if someone was giving you problems you could always get your boyfriend to handle them so it had to be something else. maybe it was something he couldn’t understand? he’d bring hell upon anyone who unsettled you so he didn’t know how to handle when it wasn’t someone. you were typically the more outgoing one than him in the relationship so he hated seeing you mope about. he’d come up with ways on how to cheer you up even going as far as asking Choji for some advice. who better to ask for advice? you were his sole reason for finding the motivation to get out of bed everyday, if you were feeling sad he’ll do anything in his power to make it better.

you sulked in bed for most of the day waiting for Jo to get back home from work and running errands. you almost called it night until the door gently creaked opened revealing your tall handsome man. in all honesty Jo was tired after a long day of work but he still wanted to make this night special for you even if it meant dragging his tired feet across every store to find your favorite flowers, snacks and movies on dvd so the two of you can have a movie night. curiosity struck you fast as you quickly removed your covers waiting for him to show you what was in the bag. Jo let out a chuckle at your quick reaction, “hey pretty girl, got you some stuff.” he’d take off his dirty black work jacket before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. the two you spent the night chatting about his day for a bit before cuddling and watching the movies. it was nice to get your mind distracted from the thoughts that were haunting you lately.

“do you want to talk about what’s wrong?” Jo asked as the first movie ended. “not really, guess i just felt a bit down.” you tried to shrug off. you weren’t the best at expressing yourself during these times especially when insecurity was eating you from the inside out. Jo raised a brow up at you already knowing you all too well to know it was more than just “feeling down”. “i was a little insecure.” you mumbled quietly hating the way it sounded so foolish out loud. Jo felt a bit taken back at your response a small part of him was waiting for the punchline but it never came. not that he thought it was funny in the slightest, but because in his eyes you were as good as life itself got. he wasn’t sure how to respond at first, he wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way but he felt like that wasn’t a good move. he can’t force you to feel differently but he wished he could make you realize that you were perfect. instead of responding he tilted your head up at him and kissing you straight on the lips.

“what was that for?” “for being you.” Jo mumbled before interlocking your lips once again. he figured it would be better to show you how beautiful you were instead of only using his words. even if that meant having to show you every single day for the rest of his life. he’ll do it even after you realize you’re the only one for him. you could expect many cuddle sessions and more to come from Jo anytime you felt the slightest bit of insecurity or doubt creep into the back of your mind.

a/n <3: i’ve been feeling pretty down recently so similar posts like this are coming soon 😭 sorry but i hope yall still enjoy! also i am a FIRM believer that jo is the type of man to work all day just to provide for the both of you and still make time to create special moments for you each and every single day. he’s just such a lover boy sorry i don’t make the rules.

[loved-reid]

You’re Cute…Yet Irritating [s.r]

Post prison!Spencer Reid x sunshine!fem!reader

Summary: She’s always humming a tune, dancing, or tapping her fingers. And Spencer can’t stand it.

Warnings: Angst with happy ending, irritated Spencer, crying, self doubt, rude comments, self hatred, etc.

Note: I always fidget and I thought this would be cute! Let me know what y’all think!!

Sorry for any errors! I didn’t re-read it! :)

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

2,745 times

And yes, he was unfortunately counting.

He bet she didn’t even know she was doing it, the repetitive rhythm of her finger nails on the desk. Files piled it, almost all the time, and Spencer always had to walk by with his fist in his mouth to prevent himself from organizing it the way he liked.

He was going to be honest, he kind of missed having that feeling, the urge to clean or organize. It told him, in a way, that his old self was still with him, and that little thing gave him hope that he so tightly held onto.

But his old self was able to focus. His old self was able to dig himself into file folders and never be able to leave, yet the tapping.

Spencer couldn’t take it.

His eye twitched every time she breathed particularly loud, his lips pursed when her foot started tapping on the floor, and, worst of all, his head shuttered when her dang finger nails tapped on the desk’s top.

He hated the noise.

And it surprised him that he did, it was such a little thing that was apparently going unnoticed by everyone else. But he just couldn’t focus on his work with the practical racket that was doing on next to him.

He wasn’t gonna lie, he almost got up just then to go ask Hotch for a desk rearrangement. But he knew that his boss would suspect something and either tease him about it or shake his head about how ridiculous it was.

Spencer agreed as well. He couldn’t change seats just because the woman next to him was tapping her fingers.

Gosh, even thinking it sounded absurd.

But he couldn’t help but imagine silence.

Silence while his brain could process things.

Spencer could’ve lost it when she started humming a soft tune. She seemed to have a new one in her head every day, each time she sat down, tea in hand, she hummed a different song than yesterday.

He couldn’t quite pin point which one it was, but he didn’t dare to continue thinking to figure it out.

His head turned toward her, hoping she’d notice his glare but she didn’t, she’s still stuck on the file she was looking at.

“Quit that, will ya?”

Her head snapped up at the sudden outburst, surprise reflecting in her eyes yet he spotted confusion.

How was she confused to the constant annoying tapping she was doing? And the humming? Spencer was slowly loosing his mind.

He took a deep breath to prevent from lashing out, his hand coming out and wiggling his fingers toward hers.

“T-the tapping, it’s irritating. Quit it please.”

Her face dropped from surprised to hurt, and Spencer somehow hated that it was quiet as soon as he said something.

“Right. Sorry,” she whispered so softly Spencer almost couldn’t hear her. She tried to add a little chuckle at the end of her murmur, yet her voice cracked against her own accord.

He watched her fingers stop, instead clenching them in a fist tightly.

Spencer should’ve been glad that the silence he so wanted was granted, but something unsettling brewed in his chest at her facial expression, her now glossy eyes staring at her computer screen. He also noticed her other hand that wasn’t holding the folder was digging into her thigh to prevent it from bouncing out of anxiety.

He didn’t know the feeling, regret, maybe, but all Spencer knew was that he wished he hadn’t said those words.

But he didn’t want to say sorry, something inside him prevented him from doing it. Maybe he was selfish because he ignored the regret in him and took the opportunity to have the ability to focus once more.

“I can’t help, falling in love with you,” she hummed softly, just under her breath as she stirred her favorite tea in the mug the next morning.

Spencer had to admit, he missed her singing in the morning. It reminded him that through all the terrible cases they’ve experienced, there was still happiness in the world, still hope, and she clearly found it through music.

But the pounding headache that didn’t go away that day prevented him from being kind.

So he couldn’t dare to show his wishes of her singing more often, heck no. And the more he thought about it the more irritating it became. He became hyper focused on the breath before each sentence she sang, the cinnamon toothpaste blaring his nose. She was also slightly off pitch every couple seconds, and she sang a couple words wrong.

It got worse when she took forever to mix her tea, blocking his path towards the coffee machine.

He huffed, ignoring the way she flinched. “Move, will ya? There’s people who actually want to do their job and not sing songs about sunshine and rainbows; just please let me get some coffee.”

Her once upwards lips turned down, the light in her eyes going out. She cleared her throat. “Right, s-sorry.”

Spencer couldn’t help it. The comment spat out before he could control it. “S-sorry,” he mimicked. “You do know confidence is a key to this job, right? Quit the childish stuttering it’s infuriating.”

He didn’t see her reaction, but if he did he would see glossy eyes and a facial expression that represented a shattered heart.

She raced out of the room, tea discarded on the counter and beelined towards the bathrooms. She quickly fumbled with the lock. It echoed throughout the bathroom, somehow making her emotions worsen. The tears went full force, a sob covered by her hands surrounding her.

His words kept repeating themselves in her head, telling her that she wasn’t good enough for the job.

Why even apply? He was clearly smarter than her and took things more seriously. What was she thinking? Coming into a field like this and humming and singing all the time? Who does that?

She could feel her makeup smearing, and her black fingers rubbing her cheeks confirmed her suspicions.

She never knew Spencer’s problem with her. Every moment she recalled every encounter, hoping not to come across a moment where she offended him. And she never did.

But now she knew. It was her humming, her tapping, her singing, her stuttering.

She wasn’t good enough to be here.

The thought made her cry harder, the type of sob where your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurry as your chest aches.

A soft knock on the stall door made her both flinch hardly and gasp at the same time.

A throat was cleared, an awkward moment of silence shoving its way between them.

“Can I come in?”

The voice on the other side wasn’t one she expected. Her heart started going on its own path, thumping quickly within her chest.

Her hand moved on its own accord, though hesitantly, and opened the lock.

Spencer’s hand came into view, opening the door and entering himself, closing and locking the door behind him.

Something about him being so close, the door locked, and them being in a place just for one person made her already beating heart pound harder.

His features, no doubt, were beautiful. His nose was like a button, eyes like chocolate in fresh cookies, lips soft and full like a blooming flower.

His hair, oh his hair. It was like a soft blanket she wanted to nestle her fingers onto, pulling at the roots until he let out a satisfying noise-

No.

He hurt her. The words he said. She was upset. He doesn’t like her.

Then why was he having such an effect on her?

Him clearing his throat once more caught her out of her thoughts, eyes meeting his.

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said,” he whispered, and she noticed his fingers playing with each other. “It wasn’t nice nor professional. And I don’t mean any of it.”

His apology was simple and sincere, eyes somehow widening while gazing at her. (Or were his eyes always like that? Full and desperate?)

“And in case you were wondering, you’re lovely at your job,” he sounded like he was rambling again, but he also seemed desperate to get the words out. “Your singing brings happiness to the place. You’re more than good enough to be here. And I’m sorry I made you doubt your amazing abilities.”

She felt a soft smile come to her lips, cheeks reddening at his complements. She wiped her nose. “Really?”

He nodded, leaning down and grabbing some toilet paper to wipe her cheeks.

Instead of simply giving it to her, he wiped them himself, wiping the damage he did to her away on his own. “I mean it with my whole heart.”

Her heart warmed.

“Thank you Spencer,” she whispered shyly.

He gave her a toothless smile, opening his arms for a hug from her.

Her heart pounded, knowing he barely let anyone touch him, but stepped towards him nonetheless.

Her arms went underneath his blazer, on top of his dress shirt (causing him to shiver) and laying her head on his chest.

He embraced her back, far too tall to be over her shoulder so he rested his chin on her head, shampoo filling his nose.

They stayed like that for a couple moments before pulling back to look at each other.

His eyes met hers, emotions swirling around, like they were trying to tell him something.

If it was a warning or an invitation Spencer didn’t know, but he leaned forward to find out, nose brushing hers.

Her lips parted, causing his eyes to shoot downward at the movement.

He gave her a moment to push away, to shove him out of the stall for even thinking she had any interest on him.

The rejection never came.

He finally planted his mouth on hers, her hands shooting to his hair to pull at his roots, a small groan leaving his lips.

His lips tasted like coffee and something truly Spencer.

Whatever it was pulled her in more, craving the taste of his mouth.

They finally pulled away, breath fanning each other’s faces. She was the one who laughed first against his lips, and he copied her before kissing her once again.

Sure, she was irritating at times, but she was cute, he’d give her that.

[sweetshuga]

Heather ✰ MS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

bsf!matt! When he talked about how much he missed his ex—totally oblivious to your feelings. [Light angst]

wc. 1.2k

note. English is not my first language! Requested!

Today was just like any other day, mundane to say the least. You had rolled out of bed, washed up, ate breakfast and wore comfy lounge wear. You were just about to watch a movie when your phone rang. Putting the bowl of snacks and the remote down, as you took the call.

Your face immediately lit up with a grin when you heard his voice, suppressing the urge to giggle and kick your feet as you felt that giddy and light feeling. The conversation flowed naturally as you talked, smiling to yourself.

Matt suggested a movie night through the phone, making your grin wider, and of course you said yes. It would’ve been stupid not to.

The drive to his place wasn’t long, but the rain made it a bit difficult to drive. It was raining like cats and dogs—probably the most rainy day in months. It wasn’t raining when you walked out of the house, but it was pouring halfway through the drive.

You groaned in annoyance when you saw the traffic jam in front of you, slowing down your car since it was slippery with all the rain. The time ticked slowly, as slow as the traffic that barely moved an inch.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Matt saying that he already prepared the snacks and not to worry about it. You chuckled to yourself – you were thinking about stopping by a grocery store on your way – before replying with a simple "okay, be there in a bit, traffic jam, yikes".

You finally pulled up at their place, looking in the visor mirror to make sure you looked alright. Sighing as you got out of your car, just to get heavily rained on as you briskly walked to their front door, giving it a few knocks. Nick opened the door and his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he let you in, "You’re soaked," he stated the obvious.

"Pause," he laughed, "shut up, but really, did you fucking walk here? You’re drenched." You shook your head, purposely making the water in your hair go everywhere, eliciting an annoyed groan from Nick. "No, I didn’t, but I did walk here from my car."

"Your car? The one parked right beside our front door?" You laughed heartily at his disbelieving tone, "kid, it’s raining like a fucking waterfall, just a few seconds and I’m wet— pause." Matt walked out of his room at the sound of the chattering downstairs, "Hey, you’re finally here!" He called out from the top of the staircase.

You looked up and playfully rolled your eyes, "yes, finally here, because of a certain someone I nearly drowned in the rain outside." Matt laughed and walked down the stairs, his hair bounced with his steps, looking as good as always.

"Was that funny?" You asked Nick, making him shake his head with a judging look on his face, "where’s Chris by the way-" "he’s sleeping, c’mon let’s go watch that movie, I’ve been waiting for you, you know?"

"I think I know that much," you let yourself get dragged upstairs and into his room, hearing Nick shout that he was gonna nap as well before the door closed behind you with a soft click.

𓆩♡𓆪

The first movie ended rather quickly and as you two scrolled through the catalogue to watch another one, Matt suddenly seemed a bit tense, like he had something to say but didn’t know if he should. And of course you noticed it, you were looking at him the whole time, after all.

"You okay? Y’seem a lil’ tense," he sighed softly, "it’s nothing–" your skeptical look combined with the overall cozy vibe of the room broke down his resolve as quickly as he built it and he spilled his guts out. "Fine, just don’t look at me like that."

You listened intently, making sure he knew that you were listening. "And I don’t know... I just miss her, a lot." You froze, but quickly composed yourself, not wanting him to catch that. "Your ex? Y’still miss her?" Repeating his words, unable to grasp your head around what he just said.

He simply nodded, "I just feel like I did a mistake letting her go like that you know? I should’ve fought for her," you felt a tinge of sadness, you had thought that he finally moved on. It didn’t help that he was giving you mixed signals lately, being clingier than usual, jokingly calling you pet names.

He sighed and kept on telling you how much he missed his ex and how much he wanted her back, and the more he spoke, the worse you felt. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you knew it would look odd if you start crying.

Desperately trying to gulp back your tears as you listened to him passionately talk about his ex. She was beautiful, smart and just the epitome of a dream girl. He was none the wiser to the tears starting to stream down your face, still rambling on about his and his ex’s happy memories.

You wanted to just run out of there, embarrassed, but the heavy rain had become a thunderstorm outside. You couldn’t possibly drive back home, it would be too dangerous, but you couldn’t just sit there and let your heart break more than it already has.

That’s when you accidentally let out a quiet chocked sob, and Matt immediately tensed and looked at you. "Hey... why... why are you crying?" His voice was soft and concerned as he spoke, the gentleness made your tears stream faster. Your face heated up in embarrassment that he caught you crying.

You stood up abruptly and wiped your tears, "It’s nothing, something got in my eye." Even you knew your excuse sounded like a bunch of bullshit, but what could you say otherwise? That you cried because you thought he finally reciprocated your feelings but was still hung over his ex? "Hey, wait, what—" he called after you as you walked out, making a lame excuse about needing the bathroom.

Once inside the bathroom, you sat on the floor, hugging your knees. You made sure to lock the door, after all, you didn’t want Nick or Chris to catch you crying. A soft knock came on the door, once, twice, and on the third he spoke. "Please, open up."

You kept quiet, not trusting your voice, and just listened to him talk. "I don’t know why you were crying earlier, but talk to me, pretty... Tell me, you know I would listen to you, please?" Your heart ached at the pet name, how could he call you names like that when he couldn't even reciprocate your feelings for him?

You knew it was just something between friends, but that made it hurt more—the realisation that you were just a friend. You were envious of any and every girl he dated or liked, they had the privilege to be liked and loved by the guy you desperately wanted.

After a stubborn silence, he finally picked up on the hint. You said nothing as he sighed and walked away from the door, his footsteps fading down the hall. You couldn’t believe he didn’t try any harder, he had just left like that after a few minutes of trying to talk to you, it all added to the hurt you were feeling.

Your heart ached painfully as more tears fell down your face, but what could he possibly do when you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to open it—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key twisting in the bathroom door lock.

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 1,279

pt. 2

Masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 Taglist

Taglist: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @queenshet @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx

© sweetshuga (& the anon that requested this, luv u<3)

[darlingdaisyfarm]

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 2

author note: hey friends, so im sorry for taking so long, i wanted to post it this Saturday but i got lots of work, it's not proofread so I'm so so so sorry for any mistakes, i promise ill fix them a bit later!

also im working on some pre portal stan x reader x ford fic and it's filled with what we love the most - glass and angst (smut included!!), i know i always say it, but im so excited to share it with you guys <3

nsfw, minors dni

Stanford Pines — the enigmatic genius who’s always just beyond your reach, a mind so vast, it feels like trying to grasp the stars. You should be focused, but your gaze keeps flicking back to him. You’re utterly captivated, heart racing, mind spinning.

And then it happens. One moment, you're holding the mug, your fingers curled around it and the next it slips. No! The mug tumbles from your grasp, its ceramic form hitting the floor with a sharp, brutal crack that echoes through the room. You watch in helpless horror as it shatters into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing the silence like a blade through your chest.

Your heart skips, thundering in your ears, and your face goes hot with embarrassment, an awful flush spreading across your skin as you turn your wide, panicked eyes toward Ford. His gaze meets yours, a mix of surprise and concern, but it’s his calm that gets you. 

“Oh shit—” your voice cracks and you curse yourself silently, mortified. Of course, you would screw up right now, in front of him. Stanford fucking Pines, the man whose brilliance makes your own thoughts feel clumsy, an intellectual giant, and here you are, tripping over a damn mug. The pieces of it seem to scatter in slow motion, like a dream you can’t wake up from. You’re so stupid. You feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry— I'm so sorry,” you ramble, desperate to somehow undo the mess, your hands trembling at your sides. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, fade away. How could you be this careless?

But then Ford takes a step forward, and everything inside you freezes. His eyes are soft, so much softer than you expected, softer than anyone else’s gaze ever could be. He’s not angry, not even irritated. Instead, he’s. . . calm. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, a chuckle escaping him, as though the whole situation is laughable, as though you’re not standing there, mortified in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me.”

For one second, everything really seems to slow down as his words sinks into you like a balm. You believe him. It’s impossible to not. He’s seen everything and here you are, worrying over a broken mug.

“Im really sorry,” you stammer again, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the tenderness in his gaze. What did you expect? That he’d scold you, dismiss you? But no. He’s calm, like this minor catastrophe is nothing. As if nothing could rattle him, as if you, standing there like a fool, didn’t matter at all.

Stanford laughs. “You know, after all I’ve been through, interdimensional beasts, curses, that damn triangle demon, a shattered mug would be nothing. So don’t apologize.” his eyes meet yours. “Im not made of glass. It takes more than a broken cup to rattle me.”

And then his voice lowers with that quiet authority. “Sit down,” he commands softly. “I’ll handle this. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

You can’t help it. His voice sounds so low, commanding, yet laced with something so tender it makes your skin tingle. The words come easy from his lips, but when they’re aimed at you, they tear through you. They make you feel like you’re something precious, something to be cared for, protected. But more than that, a part of you craves to be held by him, right now, right in this moment. To be pressed back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the strength of his arms, making you feel like you’re the only one in his world.

You’re not just obeying his words, you’re aching to obey. 

That’s why without thinking, you sink into the soft cushions. And shit, there he is — bending down, his bare chest covered with scars still glistening from the rain, droplets make you ache. They fucking shimmer on his skin, taunting you, daring you to touch him, taste him, make him yours. Every inch of him is fucking perfect. God, how are you even supposed to think straight when he looks like that? Your body is screaming for him, for his touch, for everything. 

You try to look away. You can’t. His broad shoulders, his strong fucking arms, his hard chest. It’s too much. He’s a fucking masterpiece and all you want is for him to paint you in ways you can’t even process yet. Your body betrays you, again, that warmth spreading low in your belly, growing. You cross your legs, trying to hide the desperate need that’s already pooling between them. Fuck, how are you supposed to calm this down? It only gets worse.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s all laid out in front of you, impossible to ignore. His every movement is so natural, so fucking sexy, it makes your pulse race. You just know he can make you feel things you didn’t even know your body was capable of.

You’re trying to calm yourself, really, you are. 

You cross and uncross your legs again, desperate to release some of the tension building between your thighs, but it only makes it worse. Fuck, why is this so hard? Every thought you have is consumed with him, with what he could do to you, what he should do to you. And the more you try to control it, the more your body betrays you.

You need to touch yourself, but you’re stuck, just waiting, consumed by the need for him.

And then, the thoughts take over completely.

You’re delusional to the point where you feel his hands on your legs, parting them, spreading you wide. You imagine him on his knees, lowering his head, his lips tracing the inside of your thighs, so fucking gentle, so goddamn slow, as he watches you with those eyes, sharp, hungry, possessive. And then, he presses his tongue to your clit, licks you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, making you whine for him.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it back, but it’s impossible. You need him. You want him between your legs, fucking you so deep you can’t think straight, making you beg for it. Fuck, what would he say? “That’s it, baby. . . just like that… good girl, taking what I give you. . .” the words seeping into your skin like a drug you can’t quit.

You bite down hard on your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but your body is louder than you’ll ever be. Fuck, your body’s soaking through, your pussy throbbing for his touch, and all you can do is stare at him, mesmerised. His body is a goddamn work of art, and you want to trace every inch of it, feel it on top of you, pushing inside you, taking you.

It’s so fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop it. Your body’s so ready for him, for his hands, for his cock. You can almost taste him, can almost feel his cock sliding inside you, filling you so nice.

Fuck, any writer of erotic novels would envy your imagination. The thought of him getting rough with you, pushing you down into the cushions, fucking you into the sofa until you can’t think, can’t breathe. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Mine to fuck whenever I want. You belong to me.”

The thought of him pounding into you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, makes you want to lose your mind. You just want to hear him growl your name as he fucks you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And you know you’ll let him. Let him claim you, take you apart, until you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure, a good girl begging for more.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice drags you back into reality, unwantedly. Your heart stutters in your chest as you blink, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body’s still burning, aching for him. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, the concern on his face so fucking intense it almost makes you want to tell him everything you’re feeling, right here, right now. But you can’t. God, you can’t. Not when the way he looks at you like that.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” his voice is full of worry, but there’s that edge of guilt creeping in as he mutters, “I really should’ve checked the forecast before dragging you out in this mess. . . feels like a bit of a fool for that.” his fingers are rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way he does, that little sign of guilt that makes your stomach clench in a way that’s too much to handle.

But it’s his fucking proximity that’s driving you wild. He’s so close now, standing there shirtless, looking like some goddamn wet dream come to life. You can’t focus on anything but his body, the way the rainwater trails down his skin, glistening so beautifully. Fucking fuck. 

“No, Ford, im absolutely okay, I swear—”

“Hold still,” Ford commands and that’s when you feel his hand so damn warm against your forehead, sending a shockwave of need straight through you. His touch is too fucking soft and yet it feels like it’s scorching you. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re so goddamn horny your body’s reacting to the smallest contact.

You try to calm yourself, try to act normal, but it’s too fucking hard. You force a weak smile. “I told you, I— I’m fine,” you answer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s all you can do to not let the truth slip. You want to scream it, how much you need him, how much you ache for him right now, but you don’t. Not yet. Never probably.

Ford’s brows knit tighter together and his eyes lock onto yours. He’s not fooled, not for a second. “You’re lying. Don’t try to brush it off. If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me.”

The urge to confess everything is unbearable. You want to tell him you’re not sick, you’re just fucking drenched in need, that’s all! Aching for him to pull you into his arms, to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But instead, you do the only thing you can do: you force a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to play it off.

“No, I swear I’m fine! I could go on a thousand more anomaly hunts with you!” the words spill out with a little too much enthusiasm, a little too much frenzy and you pray to whatever god is listening that it’s enough to get him off your case.

Ford’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms, still towering over you, still so close

Man, just step back or I'll pounce on you and eat you.

“Cold rain can do a lot more damage than you think. You could’ve caught something serious, and ignoring it won’t help. Do you have any idea how quickly a fever can develop if you’re already run down?”

Oh no, his voice shifts into that familiar, lecturing tone, the kind that makes you want to both roll your eyes and lean in closer to hear more. 

When he says something about cold exposure affecting the immune system, you should be paying attention. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when he’s standing there — half naked, with his chest on full display, his messy hair slightly wet from the rain. God, he's just so fucking handsome. The serious, worried look in his eyes makes you weak and you can’t help but sink a little deeper into the sofa.

Just as Ford’s lecture hits a peak, the door swings open with a loud bang and Stanley Pines strolls in, halting mid-step as his eyes zero in on the scene before him. Ford, half-naked, standing too close for comfort, and you, perched on the sofa with that nervous smile plastered across your face.

Stan’s grin stretches wide, clearly loving the situation as he leans casually against the doorway. His eyes flick between you and Ford, then he gives Ford an exaggerated once-over, raising an eyebrow at his lack of turtleneck. “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawls sarcastically, giving a smirk that only widens when he spots Ford’s obvious discomfort. “Ya know, Sixer, when I said ‘show the girl a good time,’ I didn’t mean literally strip down to do it.”

Ford’s eyes snap toward his brother, his mouth twitching in a way that’s almost a grimace. His posture straightens, arms crossing defensively as he glares at Stan. “Stanley, really? Must you always reduce everything to your level? She dropped a mug and I was helping her avoid a mess. You wouldn’t understand, but maybe try acting your age for once.”

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if ya plan on gettin' cozy, maybe take it to a couch that ain’t mine.” Stanley’s gaze slides over to you, flashing a wink. “But if you’re lookin' for company, darlin’, I’m more than happy to—“

Before you can let the awkwardness spread more, you spring into the conversation, desperate to steer it somewhere less humiliating. “Stan, actually, Ford was just helping me to—” you force a friendly smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Stan laughs like he’s heard it all before. “Sure thing, toots. But between you and me. . . you’re doin’ a hell of a job of keepin’ my brother here on his toes. Haven’t seen him all riled up like this since. . . well, ever.” your heart thump so loudly in your chest, you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Ford’s jaw clenches so tight, you can practically hear his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t look away from Stan. The vein in his neck starts to twitch.God, it’s almost painful how much he wants to just end this conversation, end this moment, and pull you somewhere private, somewhere safe, where he can have you all to himself, but he doesn’t. “Stan, enough. We have an anomaly to inspect. Something I’d actually prefer not to delay any longer.”

Stan lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying every second of Ford’s discomfort. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sixer, run off to your little projects. Just don’t forget there’s a real world out here, alright?” he gives you a quick nod, still smirking. “and you, don’t let him lock you in his lab too long, sweetheart.”

***

Grumpy Ford. The kind of irritated, scowling Ford you never realized you’d find so irresistibly enticing. That brooding frustration, that laser-sharp focus, you can’t help but imagine all that intensity turned on you, directed into every inch of your body.

God, if he just shoved you back onto that workbench right now, you’d let him. You wouldn’t care if his precious equipment went crashing to the floor, wouldn’t even flinch at the thought of papers and tools scattering everywhere. All you want is him, his body pinning you down, hands gripping you like you’re the anomaly he’s desperate to dissect, figure out, devour. 

Holy shit, you want him to push you up against that wall, pin you down until you’re writhing underneath him, his body grinding against yours, every bit of that frustration poured right into you.

Slick heat building between your thighs as you watch him, the way he moves around his lab, muttering in frustration as he punches numbers into some device, brows knitted in that fierce focus. And all you can do is want his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock driving into you like you’re all he’s thinking about.

“The rain seems to have masked the anomaly’s energy signature. I suspect it might be due to ionization in the— are you even listening?”

His voice snaps you back, he’s tearing right through your flimsy attempts at focus with that intense gaze of his, as if seeing everything you’re thinking. You offer him a small, sheepish smile. “Of course I am! Gravity, paranormal. . . s-signatures, right?” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes keep drifting over his body, your ache throbbing inside, thighs pressing together as he stands there, so close you could reach out, slip your fingers through the fabric of his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin.

Ford’s gaze follows yours, his expression changes as he considers whether to answer. “That’s a thought-reading device. Designed to access certain mental frequencies,” he explains, stepping closer to it and closer to you. “It can pick up surface thoughts. . . theoretically, anyway. I was working on it before I. . . uhm, it’s meant to strengthen and protect someone’s mental processes. Block out. . . certain entities from gaining access to their mind.”

Ford lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Honestly, you’re as distractible as Stan.” 

He turns away, but your eyes don’t leave him. Instead, you let your gaze slide over the room, until something catches your eye. A strange, helmet-like device bristling with wires and so, without thinking, you ask, “Hey, what’s that thing?”

A mind-protective device. Of course, he’d build something like that. It’s so him, his beautiful mix of intellect, caution, that underlying fear of what he’s seen, what he’s had to fight.

“So, it could let me peek into that brilliant mind of yours?” it’s a playful a tease, mostly. But inside you just ache to know, to wonder, to feel his thoughts. Would he think about you. even once, in the same filthy, breathless way you think about him?

Stanford grins. “In theory, yes, but it’s hardly necessary. My mind is. . . complex, too complicated for most people to understand."

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Ford lifts the machine, his grin is bigger. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Your heart slams against your chest and panic sears through you, cutting under your carefully held composure. Oh god. No. No, no, no. Every filthy thought, every desperate image of him, of those long, deft fingers tracing down your skin, of his mouth, his hands, of him pinning you down and splitting you open on his cock, of moaning his name until you can’t breathe. All of it, laid bare, displayed for him to see? 

You choke down the crazy urge to run, instead forcing yourself to laugh. “Why, Professor Pines, are you doubting my integrity?” you counter, flashing him a daring smirk, praying it’s enough to distract him from the heat that’s burning its way up your cheeks.

Ford chuckles in response. “Integrity?” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No. But curiosity? Oh, absolutely. I think it would be enlightening to see what actually goes on behind that amused little expression of yours.”

“There’s nothing interesting in my mind,” but your words barely sound convincing to you, let alone to him.

Ford tilts his head, arching his brow in that all-too-familiar, skeptical way that makes you want to simultaneously squirm and melt. “Oh really? You know, most people would be thrilled to test out new technology. But you. . . you’re avoiding it like it’s some kind of torture device.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” a poor attempt at casual. “I just. . . don’t wanna risk, you know, brain cells or something.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, please just buy it. . . 

Ford’s laughter rumbles and by the look on his face, you know he doesn’t quite believe you. But, mercifully, he lets it slide. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “I’ll spare you. This time.”

***

The rest of the evening is a haze of Ford’s intense meticulous rambling as you both sit tucked away in the quiet of his lab, soft lamp light casting warm shadows that stretch over the various gadgets, books, and uncharted maps sprawled out on every available surface, his domain, the world he’s always losing himself in.

He’s explaining again, his words so precise about the anomaly you saw earlier today. His voice rises with each detail, the way the rain altered it, how it vanished before either of you could even think to grab it. You should be focused, but his beautiful voice turns into a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking deeper into the chair. 

And Ford notices.

The way your head tilts too far, your eyes fluttering closed just a little too long. He’s not as lost in his thoughts as he likes to think. His gaze sharpens, flicking to you with that careful, assessing precision he’s always had. He sees that quiet exhaustion in the way your posture slumps, the way your breath catches unevenly as your body fights against the pull of sleep.

His voice softens. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Of course you are. . . It’s too late. Go, get some rest. This. . . all of this will still be here tomorrow.”

A sigh tries to escape your chest before you can stop it. You want to protest, to stay longer, to pass just little bit more time with him. But the way he looks at you makes the words die before they can leave your lips. There's something unspoken in his eyes, a quiet concern mixed with that stubborn, unyielding sense of responsibility.

You try to stifle a yawn, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve, as if the touch might change his mind. “Maybe. . . maybe just a bit longer?” however even your own voice sounds tired.

His answer is gentle but final. “No. You need to sleep. I’ll be here, as always.”

You don’t argue. When you step away, you catch one last glimpse of him, standing amidst the piles of notebooks, the soft light casting shadows along the lines of his face, catching the silver in his hair in a way that’s so painfully beautiful so you let yourself stay a little longer before you close the door.

***

The silence that reigns in the room after you leave feels like a huge, endless void that stretches to all corners of the laboratory and suffocates in its stillness. Ford exhales slowly, a sigh caught between frustration and something deeper he can’t quite name. His gaze lingers on the door, where you disappeared through just moments ago, soft sound of your footsteps still echoing in his mind. God, he’s such a fool, he thinks, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the ache that’s been building inside him ever since you spoke those soft words, just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t ignore it. The way you leaned in, hanging onto his every word, as if he were something more than he really was, something beyond the man who hides behind his work, behind his mind. The weight of your trust presses on him and with it comes the unbearable pressure of knowing he doesn’t deserve it.

And God, he tries to keep himself restrained. He tells himself that this is madness, that you’re too young, that every second he spends watching you, wanting you, is a betrayal of everything he’s tried to build.

But you’re gone now and his lab feels emptier than ever. Even as he reaches for his journal, his thoughts are still tangled with you, with the way you looked at him, the way your sleepy eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to hang on to every word, every breath he took. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

And as he opens his journal, he knows there will be no more notes on anomalies tonight. No theories, nothing but the restless, fevered words he can never, ever say aloud. Ford knows that if these thoughts ever slipped past his lips, they’d destroy you. You’d never look at him the same again. And he can’t lose you. He couldn’t bear to watch that disgust fill your eyes, that revulsion as you saw him for what he truly is: a man with a heart full of shame, but aching for you all the same.

He writes with a fever, the words coming too quickly for him to even think them through. He’s confessing things he’ll never have the courage to say to you. The way you make him ache, how wrong it feels, how unnatural it is to want you this way. You’re so young, so vibrant, so full of life. How could someone like him, an old man, a man of logic and reason, ever think he could want someone like you?

And yet, it’s all he can think about. It’s all he does think about.

God help him, he wants you.

Stanford’s hand trembles as he writes fast.

“The way she seems to lean closer with every word I speak, as if I’m some kind of god to her. I can’t breathe when she’s near, but I can’t stand being away from her either.”

He’s sickened by it, disgusted by the way his hands ache for you, by how his thoughts run into places he can’t control. But even so, he thinks, I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you.

“If only she knew what I was dreaming about, how I want to erase all layers of distance between us. I want to melt into her, touch every inch of her skin, as if she was made to belong to me, only to me.“

Ford can’t let you know how deeply he feels, how far he’s fallen for someone like you, someone so out of reach, someone who might never look at him the way he looks at you. Because if he did, if he let those words slip from his lips it would ruin you. It would break you.

And he can’t do that.

Not to you.

So, he writes. He writes because it’s the only way he can make sense of the mess inside of him. The only way he can be close to you without breaking everything.

“God, if she knew, she'd never see me as anything but the perverted old man I am.”

“God help me. . . I want her breathless. I want her shaking, clinging to me as I bury myself inside her, feeling every inch of her wrap around me like she was made for this. I want her to be mine. The years between us be damned—”

One sentence, scribbled with shaking hands: “if she knew how much I want to make her come on my cock while explaining the fundamental laws of interdimensional, she’d never look at me same way again”

“I want her shaking, spent, marked by me, by the man twice her age who should know better but can’t help himself.”

“I picture teaching her how to harness interdimensional energy, but my mind twists it, images shifting until it’s my body pressed to hers, whispering “concentrate sweetheart,” while I trust into her from behind. Her breath would stutter as I correct her technique with my hands on her hips.”

“I shouldnt crave her, not with the years that separates us like an unyielding chasm. Yet when she laughs, carefree and obvious, I imagine making her cry my name, hands guiding her hips as I thrust inside up into her, showing her exactly what an older man can do. Showing her why age doesn’t matter when she’s trembling and breathless beneath me.”

“She's got no idea, does she? I want her bent over my desk, books and notes scattered beneath her, while I thrust into her like some animal in heat, filling her over and over until there's nothing left of her but soft, pleading sounds and the way her body pulls me back in with every move. I’d guide her, make her feel exactly what it means to be touched by a man who’s twice her age and twice as obsessed.”

Meanwhile, now, alone in your room, you’re haunted by the memory of your lovely scientist, pulsing between your legs, leaving a needy ache that’s impossible to ignore. Just thinking about him, the strong lines of his hands, those six fingers that could make you see stars. . . it all sends a jolt straight through your body and suddenly, you’re melting, undone, utterly helpless to this craving for him.

You let yourself fall back into your bed, eyes closed, his presence wrapping around you like a ghost you can’t shake off. You can’t even catch a steady breath now, the dampness pooling between your thighs, every inch of you begging to be touched — not by yourself, no. You need him, his skilled, explorative touch, those six clever fingers. The memory of every stolen glance, every careful brush of his hand, it all coils up inside, a slow, delicious torment, and now it’s throbbing there, heavy with need.

You drag your fingers down the length of your body, tracing where his hands might go as you imagine him, his fingers slipping lower, finding that sweet, drenched ache and grazing it with a delicate touch that he’d know so damn well. 'Fuck,' you’d gasp, his name like a prayer on your lips as his six fingers roam, rough and relentless, pressing right against that needy opening, filling you up until you’re nothing but breathless whimpers and cries for more.

“God, sweetheart,” you hear his voice, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. Do you feel that? How hard you make me?” and then he’d press his cock between your legs, hot veins throbbing against your entrance, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he tells you what a beautiful mess you’ve become for him.

Your fingertips brush over your clit as you imagine his hand there, gentle but insistent, exploring you with that scientist's curiosity, his six fingers pressing slow, circling that sensitive bud, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. “Let me feel you. Take it slow, sweetheart. Let me make you mine.” but even as you touch yourself now, imagining his fingers in place of yours, it’s still not enough

You arch from own hand, fingers gliding through the wetness now slick and ready, you press a little harder on your clit, circling it faster, imagining the way his hands would dig into your skin, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusts into you, “take it all, darling. Every inch of me.”

And by some lucky chance, Ford stands outside your door, his pulse slamming hard against his ribs, a wreck of a man just clinging to sanity. The sound of you — all gasping, breathy moans slipping through the thin wood, whispering his name in that desperate little voice — he can’t help himself as his hand flies up to the doorframe, his fingers digging in so hard they’re going white, knuckles taut, trying to keep himself together. 

But the universe is laughing at him, at his pathetic attempt at control, at the sheer uselessness of his restraint, because fuck, every gasp you make sinks its teeth into him.

Something hot runs through him, then it sinks low, thickening in his chest, then spreads down between his legs. His cock twitches, rock-hard and aching, straining against the fabric, pressing hard, begging for the attention he keeps denying it. He shouldn’t be here — hell, he should be miles away by now, somewhere that isn’t two inches from falling apart at the sound of you! But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mess, held hostage to the way you’re sighing his name.

“Fuck, sweetheart. . .” he’s going insane out here.

Ford knows how you look right now, imagined it thousands of times, laid out on your bed with those soft thighs parted, hands trailing down, fingertips grazing over warm, damp skin, teasing yourself open, getting yourself wet just for him. Fuck, he thinks, I shouldn’t be this fucking desperate.

Ford lets his hand slip down, pressing hard against the hardness straining in his trousers, feeling himself throb against his own palm. There’s no relief, just that painful, growing ache that has him grinding his teeth, biting back the low, broken sound that wants to rip free from his throat. He’s a man undone, ruined just by the thought of you, the image of you with your legs open, your body calling out for him like he’s the only one you need.

“Jesus, fuck. . .” his free hand reaches down, trembling as he slides it beneath his waistband, wrapping around the throbbing heat of his cock, feeling himself swell, hard and pulsing against his palm. It’s wrong, so wrong to be here, touching himself to the sound of your little whimpers, but fuck if he can stop.

The sounds coming from your room grow louder and it’s too much for him. He’s already so fucking close as he imagines himself on top of you, sinking inside you, feeling your cunt wrapped tight and hot around him, your body arching, your hands clawing at his back, those delicate fingers pulling him close, begging him not to stop. 

Ford’s back collides with the lab door as he stumbles in, chest heaving, adrenaline of hearing his name on your lips. He locks the door behind him.

Fumbling hands tug at his belt, fingers clumsy, impatient, tearing at the fabric as it’s the only thing standing between him and relief. Finally, the belt slides free, and he wraps a shaky hand around his cock, swallowing down a low hiss as the raw heat of his own skin meets his grip. 

He strokes himself roughly and desperately, letting his thumb graze the sensitive tip with a ragged groan that he’s helpless to contain. His mind runs further, and he pictures you, perfect and pliant, sinking to your knees before him with eyes so innocent, with lips parting as you take him into your mouth. As you let him fuck your throat.

A shiver runs through him and he leans his head back, sighing, groaning and grunting louder as he loses himself in the fantasy. God, if you only knew. If you could see him like that, a desperate moaning and trembling mess with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock. 

“Ahh— ffuck,” hell, just how much he wants to hear you make those sounds too, moan for him, he wants to feel you beneath him, warm and soft, clinging to him, legs tangled around his waist as he sinks into you. His strokes become faster. Ford imagines pressing you down onto the lab table, your dripping pussy welcoming him as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper until there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His breath hitches, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines the way your walls would tighten around him, clenching, pulling him in. 

He’s shaking now, barely able to hold himself together, his free hand clutches at the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, as he lets himself sink fully into the fantasy. You’d look so damn perfect spread out for him. Ford’s hand moves faster, tighter, fueled by the image of you writhing beneath him, helpless, pleading, so sweet and open, absolutely his, his beautiful girl, sweetest thing. 

The pressure building until he can’t take it anymore. His hips jerk, a loud needy moan spilling from his lips as he cums, his body shuddering with release. For a few long, breathless seconds, everything fades: his mind, his shame, everything but the overwhelming, blinding wave of pleasure.

***

The morning breaks, a new day arriving, one that promises to be spent with Ford close by— and, isn’t that something to look forward to?

When you meet Stanford, the first thing you hear is, “Did you not learn anything from last time?“

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but before you can protest, Ford is stepping closer, his coat swishing around him as he moves. The wool of his scarf unravels with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, it’s over your shoulders, the warmth of it spreads around your neck. You want to say something, but all you can focus on is the way Ford’s thumb traces the edge of the scarf, his touch so delicate it feels too intimate for something so simple.

This shouldn’t feel like it does, you think, but your body screaming what your mind refuses to admit.

“There,” Ford says, stepping back. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I thought you checked the forecast this time,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t today supposed to be sunny?”

Ford crosses his arms with a smile. “Yes, well. . . One can never be too cautious. After all, last time—“

“—last time, I nearly froze my ass off,” you finish, the laughter bubbling up between you and Ford shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, like he’s about to scold you but can’t help himself.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely,” he says, but that reluctant chuckle escapes him before he can hide it.

When the sun climbs higher, the forest around you changes in hues of gold, the leaves thinning just enough to let the light filter through in soft rays. You walk side by side, close enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of your footsteps in the fallen leaves and Ford’s murmured observations, but it’s all you can do not to lose yourself in him. His words float past, about terrain, weather, anomalies and predictions, but your mind doesn’t follow, not when your eyes keep straying to him.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s any room left for you in his head, if he ever thinks about anything other than those damned anomalies. A piece of you wants to shake him, to pull him from his thoughts, to remind him that life is more than equations and mathematics. But, god, there’s something so cute about him when he’s like this, so fully consumed by his world, and you can’t look away.

“You’re thinking about something,” Stanford starts, pulling you out of your trance. “Is it the anomaly, or. . .?”

“Just wondering what it is we’re actually tracking. I mean, last time it disappeared before we could even get a good look, so. . . what’s the plan if it shows up again?”

Ford’s face lights up with approval at your question. “It’s an elusive creature, no doubt,” and again, his voice slips into that familiar lecture tone, one you’ve learned to love despite yourself. “But this time, I have a better understanding of its behaviour. The rain threw it off last time, but if my theory is correct, today’s dry weather should keep it on course! And if we can corner it near the ravine, there’s a chance we might get a clear reading on its—”

“Ford,” you interrupt, he stops talking, his brow lifting slightly. “I mean, yes— corner it near the ravine,” you repeat. Wait, what did you just say? 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ford asks, smiling at you. “If you’re still tired from yesterday, I can handle this on my own.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, crossing your arms as you look at him defiantly. "Oh, please. I said I could do this a thousand times over with you and still keep up,” you challenge.

He laughs again and his laughter is so damn cute. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Time pass and as you walk beside Ford, your mind drifts, you're not really thinking about the anomaly or the hunt anymore. No, your thoughts are elsewhere. Again. Somewhere they shouldn’t be, but there they are. You can’t help but notice the way the sun highlights the strands of silver in Ford's hair, the curve of his shoulders as he walks, his posture so effortlessly confident and strong. And you think about how much you liked the way his body looked in the rain yesterday, when the wetness clung to his clothes and made every line stand out even more. 

You sigh inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye. The weather, as perfect as it is, only makes you feel a bit wistful. Why did it have to be sunny today? You had been hoping for more rain. The kind of rain that soaked him through and made his clothes cling to his skin, the droplets tracing the curves of his chest. That was a sight you’d never forget. But today sun is too bright, too cheerful.

The soft breeze brushes your hair against your face, and you snap out of your thoughts just as you see the clearing ahead. Ford slows his pace, his gaze scanning the area with his usual calculated precision. And just as yesterday, air here feels different, as if charged. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the unease settling in. This is it, the spot where the anomaly was last seen. But, of course, there's nothing. The clearing is quiet, calm, completely empty.

Ford steps forward, looking around with a frown, muttering something under his breath. You stand there for a moment, waiting, listening to the wind rustle through the branches and the distant call of a bird. But there's nothing. 

“Where is it?” you ask and Ford turns to you, his expression calm but with that familiar hint of worry in his eyes, the kind that usually only surfaces when he’s feeling frustrated. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, though his voice sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself than you. He straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “The anomaly will show itself. We’ve got all day to catch it.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

All day with Ford? 

Your heart skips a beat and you have to fight to keep your expression neutral. What could be better than spending the entire day with him, just the two of you in this quiet, secluded place? No distractions, just you and Ford, and the anomaly that might never show up.

It takes a little more time while you and Ford are waiting for the anomaly to appear and so, a dialogue ensues.

“I’ve seen some more strange things. In all my years of research, there have been anomalies of all shapes and sizes. Creatures from dimensions we can’t even begin to understand. Some are harmless, just curious things that wander around, never meaning to cause harm. Others. . . Others are far more dangerous. I've seen creatures that could tear through steel without breaking a sweat. Their behavior is— well, unpredictable.”

“What about the really dangerous ones?”

“There's one anomaly, one creature that I’ve encountered that still haunts me, to this day.” he looks away for a moment, as if weighing the decision to tell you more. “a beast unlike any other. Its skin is like iron, nearly impenetrable. And its mind is relentless. It doesn’t think like us. It doesn’t have the ability to reason, only the ability to kill and survive.”

Wow, you already can see it in your mind — a massive, hulking creature, covered in jagged, metallic plates, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger.

“And you’ve seen it?”

Ford nods slowly. “Yes, once. And it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” and then he calls you by your name. “Listen, if we encounter anything dangerous, you stay behind me. Don’t try to be a hero, don’t try to ‘help out.’ I’ve trained for this. I know these creatures; I know their instincts and behaviours. You. . . you don’t. It’s crucial that you follow my lead.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” you mumble, folding your arms. “I can handle myself.”

But Ford only smirks, oh how cute you are. “And if you ever find yourself lost between dimensions, the key is to stay calm. Panicking is a surefire way to make yourself vulnerable. Reality in those places doesn’t play by the same rules. Your mind can trick you, distort what you’re seeing” 

You stare at him, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over you. “Well, thanks, Ford, for the guide on how to travel through dimensions and fight the monsters that live in them.”

“Years of experience. Sometimes the hard way. But you don’t need to worry about that, alright? Just stick close, keep your wits about you, and we’ll make it out just fine.” he smiles.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the forest floor. “You’re. . . you’re Stanford Pines. You’re used to dealing with this kind of thing. Me? I’d probably end up wandering off into some other dimension if I so much as blink wrong.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then— crack. A twig snaps somewhere in the trees to your left. The sound is sharp, distinct, echoing through the quiet forest.

Your heart skips a beat and you instinctively grip Ford’s arm, eyes widening. He tenses, immediately going on alert as his gaze darts toward the source of the noise. “Stay behind me.”

You swallow, nodding as you press yourself close to him. Ford moves slowly, keeping himself between you and the sound, his shoulders squared, every muscle tense and ready.

Another rustle, this time from the other side. You bite your lip, feeling the cold prickling sensation of fear clawing up your spine. This doesn’t sound like a bunny, not in the slightest.

The sounds grow louder, surrounding you both. Ford’s posture tightens, his gaze focused and determined, while you hover close behind him, whatever lurks in the shadows isn’t friendly, and Ford, as always, stands ready to protect you at any cost.

Suddenly, Ford raises a hand, signaling for you to stay still. One. . . two. . . three—

A small, furry creature darts out of the bushes, a pudgy raccoon, more plump and inquisitive than fearsome. It scampers out, blinking innocently at you both and you feel sigh with a relief.

You slip out from behind Ford, who’s still standing rigidly, eyeing the raccoon with disbelief. “Well, would you look at that,” you say, glancing up at him with a slight grin. “Our terrifying forest intruder was just looking for a snack, huh?”

“Don’t get too close,” Stanford warns, still frowning. “These things are rarely alone.”

You laugh softly, crouching down and letting the raccoon sniff at your hand. “Oh, come on, Ford. You really think this little guy is hiding—”

The words die in your throat as you catch the look on his face, his eyes wide with sudden horror, mouth open as he shouts, “behind you!” and you whip around just in time to see something that makes your heart freeze, a hulking mass with matted fur and claws like daggers, looming in the shadows. Its eyes flash like yellow lanterns and a rank smell hits you, earthy and rotten all at once. You barely manage a step back before it lets out a furious roar, its maw wide enough to fit a head and then some. The sound is so loud it rattles through you and a splatter of spit flies from its jaws, landing on your clothes. You go stock-still.

“Th-that’s. . .” you stammer, but Ford’s voice interrupts you, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“Stay calm. It’s eyesight’s weak, but sound-sensitive. Just— slowly step back.”

You barely have time to take in his words before the beast’s head snaps toward you again, snarling with an intensity that shakes the trees. Immediately, Ford pulls out his gun, aiming directly at the creature, he fires off a round that echoes through the forest, hitting the beast and it lets out a howl of pain that sends birds scattering from the treetops. But it’s still very much alive, and now it looks angry, furiously angry. The monster's gaze is fixed on Ford with a vengeful glare, and he rushes towards him with a blood-curdling growl.

Ford stands firm, taking careful aim as he readies to fire again. But just as he steadies his grip, a branch underfoot shifts, making him stumble. The gun slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the tangle of roots and leaves and suddenly, he’s weaponless, the monster mere feet away.

Panic flares in your chest as you see the creature, claws poised, ready to strike. Ford scrambles back, but it’s too close, and something snaps inside you. Without thinking, you dart forward, adrenaline flooding through you and you grab a thick branch from the ground. With a yell that’s as much out of fear as it is determination, you swing it at the creature with everything you have, landing a blow that momentarily distracts it from Ford.

But that monster retaliates, slashing out in a blind fury and suddenly you feel the sting of claws raking across your leg. Pain flares sharp and hot, but you grit your teeth, ignoring it, keeping yourself steady enough to stay upright.

Ford seizes the moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear as he snatches his gun from the ground, turning back to the creature. His voice is hoarse but resolute, “what are you doing?” he shouts irritably, calling your name again. “I told you to listen to me!”

With a final, controlled shot, he fires, the bullet hitting its mark. The monster lets out an agonized cry, staggering back before it turns and lumbers off into the dense woods, its snarl fading into the distance.

The adrenaline ebbs, leaving you and Ford alone in the sudden silence. His gaze finds yours, mad and worried all at once, his hand reaching out to steady you as your breathing finally starts to slow.

Ford’s face twists with frustration, jaw clenched tight and when he speaks, his voice is seething with barely controlled anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in like that! I told you to stay back!”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because, god, he’s hot when he’s angry, with that fire in his eyes and his tone like a damn storm. You force yourself to stay upright, despite the dull ache pulsing in your leg. “Ford, it’s fine. I just wanted to—”

But he’s already looking at you, really looking, his gaze flicking from your face to the way you’re leaning on your uninjured leg. “You’re hurt,” his tone dips from anger to something softer and worried. “Damn it, I should’ve never brought you out here. I’m such an idiot—“

“No, Ford, it’s just a little—” you try to brush him off, waving your hand dismissively, but as you shift your weight, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. You bite back a wince, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch, really.”

“Don’t even think about hiding this from me,” Ford turns annoyed and dead serious again, he steps closer as he assesses you, and there’s something really fierce in the way he insists, “Let me take a look. Now.”

For a moment, you think about arguing. But the pain flares again and you realise there's no winning against that look in his eyes. With a sigh, you give in, nodding reluctantly as you show him your new wound, from where the blood has already soaked into the fabric, turning it dark red.

Ford’s face changes instantly. “Damn it,” his hand hovers uncertainly like he wants to reach out, to touch, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. “This is— this isn’t just a scratch.”

His fingers finally settle gently around your calf, supporting you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he examines the wound. You can feel his pulse under his fingertips, it’s obvious he’s anxious, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the Ford who always has the answers.

“This was my fault, I shouldn’t have— damn it, I should’ve kept you safe.”

***

The journey back to the shack feels agonizingly silent. Ford has one arm around your waist, nearly carrying you as you limp along, every step makes the wound throb in your leg. The sting, the ache, it’s all mingling with a sick sense of regret. You feel it settling in your chest. The whole day had been a disaster. You both went out to catch that anomaly, that one lead he was so excited about. . . and instead, you ended up facing something brutal. The monster had nearly killed you both.

Ford hasn’t spoken a word since the forest and with each passing second, it gnaws at you more. The thought appears in your mind, he must regret it. Bringing you along, letting you be there, yeah. . . he’s mad and not in the way you find hot. He’s distant, still supporting you, guiding you with a firm hand, but it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you finally make it to the Shack, you find it blessedly empty. No Stan’s loud jokes or questions to break the heavy silence between you. Ford helps you to walk, still wordless and the whole way, you’re trying to find something to say. Some excuse, some apology, but every time you look over at him, you just see that grim look and you stop yourself.

Inside, he lets you sit on the couch. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak, to try to lift that heavy cloud around you. “Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I didn’t mean to—”

But Ford cuts you off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I should never have let you come along, I put you in danger.”

That serious tone. . . You nod, saying nothing more and after a beat of silence, you get up slowly, mumbling something about heading to your room. Ford doesn’t stop you, and he watches you go, still worried as fuck, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s rooted there, expression tight as he watches you limp down the hall.

When you get to your room, you close the door softly behind you, but the pain in your leg has started pulsing heavier, sharper, demanding your attention. You look down and finally decide, you’re going to check it, even if just to prove to yourself that Ford’s look wasn’t warranted, that maybe you’re not as bad as he seemed to think.

You settle on the edge of your bed, carefully and slowly taking your pants off, but as you pull the fabric, the sight that greets you isn’t reassuring in the slightest. The cut on your thigh is deep, seeping a fresh, dark line of blood that’s begun to smear against your skin. “Fuck. . .” you curse, tilting your head to get a better look, your fingers hovering over the edges of the wound. Just as you’re mentally preparing to find the first aid kit, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“No, please, just— let me help still. I won’t be calm until I—”

In the midst of your concentration, you hear the faintest creak of the door, and before you can even react, it opens. 

You barely have a moment to react, still sitting on the edge of your bed, the bloody gash on full display as Ford steps inside, eyes widening as he looks at you. He freezes and for a moment, you both just stare at each other in silence. You’re sitting there in your panties and a t-shirt, and you don’t know if to be happy or not, realising how exposed you must look. Ford’s gaze flickers to your bare legs, to the wound on your inner thigh.

You cross your legs in shock and embarrassment. “Ford, what—” you start, but he quickly raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Ford approaches, he kneels beside the bed, looking up into your eyes. “I— I can’t just leave you like this,” he pleads. “Please. . . let me help.”

“Ford—“

Ford’s hands hover over your leg. “You need to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, make sure it doesn’t get infected. It’s going to hurt, but, I can help. I’ll be gentle. Just let me. . . please.”

His eyes search yours, a quiet desperation in them that seems to say more than just his words ever could. Ford may be brilliant when it comes to the unknown, but in moments like this, when it’s you that’s hurt, he’s lost, even if he tries to sounds smart. He doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to fail you.

Slowly, you nod, the vulnerability in his gaze too much for you to ignore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “but be careful, okay?”

[temilyrights]

43) “god you’re so emotionally constipated.” for Emily x Reader please.

history smothers us

emily prentiss x gn!reader

summary: years of unspoken words and misconceptions threaten to destroy what remains of a once close relationship. you couldn't imagine your life without emily. now you look at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. featuring prompt "god you're so emotionally consitpated" from my prompt list.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mention of blood. no use of y/n. set in season 12. unit chief prentiss.

a/n: thank you so much for the request <3 sorry it took me a while I struggled to find the right idea. I imagine this wasn't what you had in mind but I do hope you enjoy it anyway. also side note: i've deleted my taglist, i'm restarting because it was years old so if anyone would like be re-tagged or anyone new would like to be added pls lmk!

The police lights flash in the midnight sky. Agents and local police spread across the farmhouse. And you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, blood dripping down the side of your head, the beginnings of a headache making itself known.  

The bright torch shining in your eyes makes you wince, but the EMT clears you of a concussion and hands you pain meds to swallow. You drag your hand through your hair, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. 

The unsub had come out of nowhere and whacked you over the head with a metal pole, and he probably would’ve done a lot more if it wasn’t for Tara being two steps behind you. 

Honestly, you were fine. A little banged up, with a nasty bruise already forming, but the blood had been wiped away and it was almost like it had never happened.

Well, apart from the very angry Unit Chief Prentiss stalking towards you. 

You wish this was an unfamiliar sight, but god she’d been back months now and you don’t think her smile had been pointed in your direction once. 

“What were you thinking?” She scolds, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. You don’t miss the shaking of her hands as she holds them tightly on her hips or the rising flush of her cheeks, both she would blame on the cold but you knew they were born out of concern, not that she’d ever admit it. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise the FBI now required its agents to have the abilities to see through walls.” You roll your eyes, the half-joke an attempt to fix her glare, but you know even as the words pass your lips it’s futile. Your shoulders slump, already tired for the fight ahead,  “He came out of nowhere, Prentiss.” 

Her lips purse, “They require you to be able to clear a room. It seems you might need a refresher course. Maybe until you can be trusted and I deem you requalified it’s best you stay back in quantico.” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. Of all the dumb things- “Let me get this straight, you’re benching me over nothing? Tara was through that door seconds later. I wasn’t defying your orders. You have no reason to do this!”

“I want you to redo your basic training so I know you can be trusted in the field.” She demands, stoic, serious, and so far away from the soft woman you used to be able to reach out to. 

You laugh, but the noise is sad and wild. You shake your head in disbelief, watching the woman in front of you that years ago used to be the person you were closest to in the world. Now you stare at her and feel every part of the ocean that destroyed you both. “God, you’re so emotionally constipated.” 

“Excuse me?” 

You push yourself off the end of the ambulance, bringing yourself to your full height and meeting her gaze. You knew the day she accepted the unit chief position this wouldn’t end well, there was too much history, too much the two of you had left unsaid, hurt and anger smothering any possible relationship left. 

“Let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my performance.” You begin,

words low enough that if she didn’t listen the words threatened to disappear with the wind, “It’s because I got hurt and you’d rather damage my career and ruin the tatters of our relationship than admit that me getting hurt scared you.” 

Emily steps backwards, face stricken. Her hands fall from her hips, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles for words. 

You decide there’s nothing left she can say. You excuse yourself and grab a lift with Luke, happy to leave the crime scene and your boss behind. After everyone’s finished at the farmhouse and packed up at the police station it’s nearing two am and everyone is ordered back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep before the flight in the morning. 

Your feet are dragging by the time you make it to your room. The meds have done their job though and your headache had faded away, but nothing but sleep was going to help your heavy and aching bones. You wave a tired goodbye to Tara, who unlike Emily had no issues checking in and making sure you were okay, and then retreat to your room. 

You slump into the chair at the desk, telling yourself you’ll find the energy to get ready for bed in one minute. But so thankful to finally be off your feet. Your reprieve lasts only minutes before a knock sounds at your door. A withered sigh leaves your lips and you consider ignoring it but still find yourself pushing yourself upright and making your way back to the door. 

When you open it, you wish you’d listened to your thoughts. 

“Hi?” You say hesitantly, staring into the tired face of Emily Prentiss. There’s no anger, her shoulders are almost slumped, defeated maybe? You look away, too scared to analyse further. 

“Can I come in?” 

You open the door further allowing her entrance. She smiles, tight lipped at you, nodding her thanks. You close the door and wait for her to speak, pondering how in the hell you both got to awkward silences and forced tight lipped smiles when years ago you two could share looks across the room and know what the other was thinking, spent hours talking and laughing together, how you had built a life and never thought there would be a day that she wasn’t in it with you. 

“We can’t go on like this.” She starts eyes meeting yours before flickering away, “Things between us have not been right since I returned and I think maybe we should clear the air. I want to be the Unit Chief, I want to be back here at Quantico but that only works if we can be a team.” 

You scoff. It slips from your mouth, uncontrolled and harsh. Emily’s gaze snaps to yours, her surprise at the sound clear. You shake your head, “What is there to say?” Where would we even begin?

“I-” She chokes, blinking as the emotions claw at her throat. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Your brows draw in confusion as you shake your head, “What are you talking about?”

“After everything that happened with Doyle-”

Your eyes bulge, “You think I'm still upset about that? God, do you think I’m a monster? You survived. You lived. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears pool in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her gaze shifting to the wall as her fingers pick at a hangnail. She looks back at you, still picking, gaze more open and lost than you’ve seen in a long time. “Then why? I hurt you. I can see it in the way you can barely stand to be around me, like it hurts you to even be in my presence.” 

You blow out a breath, eyes moving around the room before they land back on her and then away again. “It’s not your fault.” You breathe, emotions lodged in your throat and heart beating wildly against your chest as you try and force the words out. “You didn’t hurt me, I hurt myself. There was never going to be a life I led that you weren’t right with me, you know?” You laugh, wet and broken. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, her eyes emotional pits that you don’t dare hold. 

“And then you left for London and I couldn’t exactly be upset because I had no say in what you did with your life. We were just friends. I knew it’s what you needed and I don’t resent you for that. I just…” You take a breath, “I was so angry at myself for missing you, for thinking that I could be someone you would stay for.”

And there it was. The truth. Because at the end of the day, you’ve always just wanted to be enough for the woman in front of you. For her to see you as more than just your friend. To one day have your feelings returned. 

She’d left and you’d both been busy and you’d deliberately tried to separate yourself as well, drawing back from the painful reminder that you weren’t enough. And since her return, all those emotions have been resurfacing, however much you tried to keep them buried. Because falling out of love with Emily Prentiss was just not something you were capable of, and you’ve spent years trying too. 

Emily approaches you, the space between you closing ever so slightly. Your gaze sticks to the ground, scared to see the easy to read emotions across her face. She takes a breath, the sound muffled by the beating of your heart.

“After I came back from Paris, I used to find myself looking at you and knowing I couldn’t be that woman you remembered, the one you sought for. I wanted to. Desperately.” Her voice hitches, and then lowers to a hoarse whisper, “I wanted to be the woman you fell for.” 

Your eyes finally rise, against your will. Tears make their way in delicate paths down her cheeks, she looks every bit as lost as you feel. The only thing stopping you from falling apart is the fear that if you let go you may never recover. 

“I didn’t need you to be anyone. I just wanted you to be yourself. I wanted you to trust me.” You respond gently.

She shakes her head, “No, everyone was looking for that version of me that I couldn’t grasp onto.”

“Emily,” You sigh painfully. Her face crumples, eyes squeezing shut at the sound of her name from your lips. It’s been so long, you know. “You were healing from a trauma. I’ve always wanted the authentic you, whatever that includes. Why would that suddenly change?” 

She nods, a deep frown on her face as she accepts your words. Then a wet laugh, as she wipes away her tears. “I’ve missed you. Every day. I hate being in the same room as you and it being awkward. I used to be able to look at you and know what you’re thinking. I want that back.” 

A small smile curves your lips, “Me too, more than anything.” 

“Yeah?” She questions. Her teeth run across her lip, as she dares to hope. “You think we could get back there?” 

Your heart hammers. “I just need you to be really clear here. What exactly are we getting back to?” 

She steps forward, finally close enough to touch. Her hand hesitantly reaches out and touches yours, her cold fingers intertwining with your warm ones. Your body remembers her touch, relaxes and leans into it automatically. You eat it hungrily, tracking the movement before your eyes rise to meet hers and find soft, open eyes watching you. “I want to make you fall in love with me again.”

Your breath catches in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes as your hand shakes in hers.

“And this time, I promise, I’ll be there to catch you.” 

“We might have a slight problem with that plan.” You laugh, trying your hardest not to sob.

She frowns, nose wrinkling in the way you adore. “What’s that?” 

“It’s pretty difficult to re-fall in love when I never stopped loving you in the first place.” You huff, and Emily laughs, rich and free and bright. Her face joyful and happy, and with the wide bright smile you’ve waited months to feel pointed in your direction. God the sight makes your head spin.

“Is that so?” She asks, hand moving up to cup your cheek, eyes full of love and pointed at you. 

You can only nod, dizzy from her attention and the emotions coursing through your body. 

When her lips find yours it feels like finally coming home. Soft and delicate, both too scared to push too hard, exploring slowing even as her hand holds your cheek and yours fists in her shirt. You’ve waited years for this, and if you get more of these than it will be worth it. Everything is worth it for the feeling of Emily in your arms. 

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. You follow her mouth and she concedes and gives you a couple more slow kisses before she stops herself, resting her forehead against yours.

“I just want to say sorry for earlier.” She whispers into the safe space you’ve built. “You were right, I was scared when you got hurt. Dave’s already kicked my ass for my response, you won’t receive any disciplinary action.”

You nod slightly, her forehead moving against yours, “Thank you.” 

“It won’t happen again.” She promises, sealing the words with a kiss to your lips. 

“I know.” You kiss her again, but this time you break out into a yawn midway through. Your momentarily forgotten exhaustion, making itself known. 

She melts against you, caressing your cheek. “Oh, you need to sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m taking you out for dinner.” 

You bite your lip to hide the smile threatening to take over your face, “A date?” 

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Yes, a date. But only if you sleep first.” 

“Your wish is my command.” You can’t stop the grin from taking over your face anymore. You press a peck to her lips and lead her back towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees, eyes fluttering over your face as if she’s committing every aspect to memory. “Sleep well.” 

“You too.” 

She presses one last kiss to your lips before she opens the door and makes her exit. You close the door quietly behind her, sinking back into it and allowing the giggle to finally escape your mouth.

What the fuck had just happened. 

Emily Prentiss kissed you. 

Emily Prentiss has feelings for you. 

You weren’t alone.

You bite your lip and push off the door, finally ready to get ready for bed and praying come morning that this would still be your reality.

taglist: @aburman03

[kookiestiddies]

1 | first sightings

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Enemies With Potential | Fluff, Angst & Smut

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: swearing, mild injury, reader is grumpy, mentions of flashing (???), attempted humour, if you see any typos and grammatical errors no u didn’t

A/N: there'll be no fixed schedule for this bcs I have commitment issues rip so good luck to ya'll honestly. happy reading! feel free to lmk your thots :8) 👍🏼

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

3 years ago...

Fuck my life! 

That’s what you think to yourself as you try to catch your breath; an impossible feat considering the fact that you’re lugging along 3 monstrous and overpriced textbooks. And not to mention the fact that you’re racing across campus because it’s only the first day of your college career and you happened to be late.

Sure, maybe it could be considered your fault because you hit the snooze button too many times over the course of an hour before your class actually started. Maybe you only further sealed your fate by taking too long in the shower. However, in your defence, it should be decreed a social injustice for classes starting earlier than 11 am to be acceptable. Rest and hygiene come first about all else, yup yup. 

You were so focused on reaching your destination that you missed to sound of the bell ringing overhead the campus coffee shop entrance on your side, signalling someone’s rushed exit.

So imagine your surprise when you find that your race to the class that’s 2 minutes away from starting is brought to a halt when you’re suddenly sent flying perpendicular to the direction you were going in by an unseen force only to land harshly on the lawn in front of the coffee shop. 

You see it all happening in slow motion: you’re rapidly reaching the ground but not before you jut out your arms to hopefully prevent your face from getting too intimate with the muddy ground. Your ultra-premium textbooks leave your grasp to land in- 

Oh NO! 

A puddle.

While you sit there in shock, barely processing what just happened, you hear someone swearing nearby from the direction of the coffee shop. You look up towards it to find a pair of doe eyes looking back at you. The owner of said doe eyes is crouching ahead of you; a boy.

Before you can take a good look and process him, he’s already up on his feet and quickly picks up a bag scattered haphazardly next to him. You snap out of trance and call out to him as he makes a move towards the main campus buildings. 

“HEY!”

He hesitantly stops and looks around at you. “What?!” 

What’s with his tone?! 

“What do you meant, What?! You knocked me down! My textbooks are ruined!” you say as you get up haggardly, brushing off the mud on your elbows.

“I’m sorry, but I’m already late for my class, I’ve got to go,” he replies quickly and starts scurrying away. 

“WHAT?!” you yell to his retreating back to no avail. Oh, now you’re mad. 

The boy’s hurriedly retreating figure comes to a sudden halt and turns around, speeding towards you with his hands in his pocket. 

That’s more like it. Get your ass over here and apolog-

“I’m sorry about your textbooks, hope this covers it!” he rushes out and shoves a wad of cash in your hands. He doesn’t wait for your response before he darts back towards the campus building. 

You’re too stunned. You are simply. Too. Stunned.

An angry pout forms on your face as you mull things over and count the cash that he generously thrusted to you. A whole 50 bucks. The sheer audacity of that stupid boy. 

What the heck were you supposed to do with 50 bucks?! Each textbook cost atleast 90 bucks!

You pick up your bag and your now wet, smudged and ruined mammoth of a textbook set with a groan and angrily huff your way towards class, which you are now officially late for.

Imagine meticulously planning out your first day at college from hour-to-hour, only to end up becoming the loser that shows up to class late with a set of muddy textbooks, ruined hair and shockingly dirty clothes.

Operation Have A Positively Impressionable First Day of College: FAILED.

You would continue your run to class if it weren’t for the fact that your knee was sore as a result of you getting to 2nd base with the grass which led to you limping the rest of the way. 

Maybe people are kind, maybe it was the fact that your anger and annoyance were monstrously visible to anyone passing by, but thank fuck, everyone moved away from you as you stormed your way to class. Thanks to your encounter with that fuckhead of a boy earlier, your mood is now at its lowest setting and you simply cannot tolerate anyone else for the rest of the day probably. You curse him under your breath the whole way.

It can’t possibly get any worse, right? Wrong.

When you finally make it to class, you were 4 minutes late and three significant things happened one after the other:

#1 You had to face the embarrassment of 200 pairs of eyes, plus the lecturer’s, witnessing your walk of shame as you cautiously entered the class like a gazelle amongst a pack of lions. 

2# All the seats towards the front were taken up so you had no choice but to find an empty seat towards the back of the class. 

3# By your luck, you realised too late that you were seated right in front of an annoyingly familiar face.

He tried to hide from you. 

You know this because he looked at you straight in the eyes, visibly panicked and lied his head on the table with his hoodie and arms shielding him, pretending to be asleep. 

Tch, pathetic!

Thankfully, the rest of the class went by as smoothly as can be, though you did feel the heat of someone staring at you at the back of your neck. You tried your best to ignore it by forcing all your attention toward the lecture. 

When the end of the class came around, you were quick to exit the class. 

Frankly speaking, you’ve had enough of today.

As you turn down the hallway, you bump into Nayeon, a friend you’d made during the freshmen orientation. 

While you were still deciding on whether you should project a more introverted or extroverted personality onto all the new people you’d be meeting in college, Nayeon made the choice for you by taking up your neighbouring seat and starting a conversation with you about the shitty AC in the hall. In less than an hour, you’d already gotten to know all about her eight exes and how two of them almost gave her STDs and one of them almost gave her a whole baby. You were still contemplating which one would have been worse.

“Y/n! Oh, thank god you’re here! Y/nieee, today has been such a nuisance and it’s barely 12 pm!” she cries while sliding her arm in yours as you both start walking in sync towards the college cafeteria.

Hah! 

“You know, Mercury must be in retrograde or something because my day has been awful so far as well,” you say with a downward tilt of your mouth. 

“Oh? Does that have anything to do with your whole ‘I’m 27 years old with no prospects’ cosplay thing you’ve got going on? Lovin’ the limp by the way. It really adds to the whole vibe” she retorts with a cackle. You can’t help but giggle along with her until you remember the reason for your haggard get up.

You haughtily recount your morning’s incident to her and heave up your textbooks, now reduced to a damp and muddy stack of papers.

“Ew, what was his problem?!” she asks and you giggle at her disgusted look. You’re both quiet as you reach the cafeteria and get some food on trays. “C’mon, the gang’s over there,” Nayeon says as she leads you to a table that seats her friends whom you had also briefly met during orientation. 

You take your seat and set your food on the table along with your ruined textbooks. Hoseok peeks a curious look at them, you notice, but he doesn’t say anything. But his curiosity is abundantly loud, so you answer it for him anyway.

“Some turdball knocked me over this morning on my way to class and they dropped right into a puddle,” you say with a pout. 

“Oh? Does that also explain the Mother Nature cosplay you’ve got going on right now?” he replies with a cheeky grin and reaches out to you to pluck out a piece of grass that you hadn’t realised was in your hair

Geez, this is so embarrassing.

“Uh-huh, totally. It’s avant-garde baby.” you retort which sends the table in a fit of giggles, including Hoseok, whose laughter rings louder than the rest. 

“Also, what’s up with you guys and cosplays? Nayeon made a comment earlier too,” you bring up. Somehow, it causes Jimin to spiral into a choking fit and the rest of the group starts knowingly laughing. 

“Oh, you’re gonna LOVE this!” Chae bellows towards you. 

She’s interrupted by Jimin who whines “Chae, for the love of God, can you please shut up about that? It’s literally not even funny anymore!” 

“Oh yes it fucking is! Go on,” Nayeon urges Chae on.

“It’s an inside joke right. When we were in high school, he took part in a random Joker & Harley Quinn cosplay competition with one of our other friends. This idiot here was Harley and he flashed the whole audience with his ass hanging out from under his skirt the whole time!” 

The whole table hollers with laughter, except for a violently blushing Jimin. In between your giggles, you ask Jimin “Did you guys win though?” The table erupts in another round of laughter as Jimin mutter an angry “No.”

“Oh my god, there’s even a video! Nayeon, where’s that video Jungkook took?” Hoseok yells. 

“STOP!” Jimin yells but it’s too late. 

In lighting speed, Nayeon whips out her phone and shows you what truly is Jimin’s ass hanging out from under a skirt as he prances about the stage in true Harley Quinn fashion. There’s another handsome boy next to him dressed in a Joker costume. “That’s our friend, Taehyung, by the way,” Chae adds. 

“Jesus fuck, do you have that video on standby or something? You pulled it out so fast,” Jimin whines at Nayeon. “I have it saved as my live wallpaper babe,” Nayeon replies and sends a flying kiss towards Jimin which earns her a swear thrown at her face in return.

“Hey, where’s Jungkook? His class should have ended by now, right?” Hoseok asks Chae.  

“Hmm yeah, he was in the same class as Y/n actually. Did you see him?” Chae turns to you. Your attention is still focused on the phone in Nayeon’s hand as you reply, “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied to notice. Besides-,” you lift your head to look at her.

“-I don’t even know what he looks like,” you say with a smile.

“Look out for someone who looks like me, duh. I may be cooler than him, but we’re still twins,” Chae teases.

“Well, speak of the devil, here he comes,” Hoseok says and shifts his attention to look over your shoulder. 

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late. I had to sort something out with my lecturer,” an eerily familiar voice says behind you. 

No. 

Fucking. 

Way. 

You don’t want to turn around.

“We gotta head out soon for the . By the way, say hi to Y/n, she’s watching your video of Tae and Jimin at the comic fest,” Hoseok says with a bright smile. 

“Huh? Hmm, kinda weird that you came over just to watch Jimin hyung’s ass reshaping the world’s seat,” the new guy acknowledges you and you feel him approaching from behind. 

“You’re all horrible,” Jimin says.

The table erupts in a fit of giggles and you suddenly feel a warm hand on your shoulder. 

Fuck.

You have to turn around now. 

You’re turning around.

“Hi, I’m Jung-” he stops halfway and his eyes widen as he realises who you are. 

You fake a wide smile and say “Hi Jungkook. I think we’ve met before,” you say harshly and look at him straight in the eyes. You’re pouring every bit of spite you have crawling around your body into this look. And it seems to pay off with how Jungkook gulps loudly and looks at you with doe eyes.

The whole table has turned to witness your interaction now.

“Oh, so you have? Small world huh,” Chae chirps.

What a small world indeed.

Your moments away from blowing a fuse and cussing him out in front of your friends who are watching your interaction, when the unthinkable happens, too fast to be stopped.

Jungkook immediately gets down on his knees in front of you, brings his palms together and shrieks out, “I’M SORRY!”

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

[synthetickitsune]

Full Stomach, Full Heart ✧ w.jh

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader (gn) Genre: angst, hints of comfort Summary: What was the last thing you ate, actually? Yet better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it. Word count: 2.2k Warnings: food struggles, mentions of reader not eating properly

You feel something’s wrong within the first hour after waking up. Deeply wrong, but you’re equally deep in denial, so you write it off as a side effect of getting up too early and immediately scrolling on your phone, so you go back to sleep. When you wake up again, you’re not really sure you slept at all. Somehow, though, the time has passed too quickly for you to just be spacing out in bed. You need to get up. 

The feeling is still there, a weight on your chest and your mind feels like it’s clouded by a thick fog. Your bones feel heavy. Just standing feels uncomfortable and draining. You get some water and crawl back into bed. A text from your boyfriend is waiting for you, wishing you a good morning and asking if you’ve eaten yet. Your stomach churns at the idea of eating, so you ignore the text in favor of more sleep. 

Only sleep just won’t come. Not for long anyway. It’s all brief flashes of unconsciousness that leave you disoriented and tired once you wake up. Switching between unsuccessful attempts of napping and mindless scrolling on your phone, with some spacing out on the side, time passes. You try to make yourself get up again and do something, try to guilt yourself into being productive, all without result. Nothing works, nothing feels right.

You can’t tell what’s wrong exactly, but somehow it feels like everything is. It makes you upset, most of all with yourself. There is nothing that needs to get done, however you can come up with a list of a hundred things that you could get done if only you dragged yourself out of bed. There’s no reason you should be like this, you tell yourself. It is what it is, you tell yourself next and close your eyes again.

Without your permission, time passes. It slips away from you, then forcefully reminds you of its existence when your phone starts to ring.

It’s Jun.

“Hey,” you whisper. You hope he heard over the commotion around him. Suddenly you realize you really hate people today. Staying in bed seems even more appealing. Nobody is going to bother you here.

“Are you alright?” Jun cuts straight to chase. His voice is kind but laced with worry. “You never responded to my text.”

Oh. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I am,” you hesitate a little, “Just don’t feel too good.”

You can see the frown on his face when you close your eyes and focus on the brief pause. The background noise, the voices, get distant and quiet. Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door clicks shut.

“‘Not good’ as in…?” he asks and you sigh. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you regret being honest in the first place. Just a little. But then again if you haven’t told him, he’d drive himself crazy with worry and that’s the last thing he needs during practice.

“I just don’t feel much of anything,” you admit, “I’m just really tired. I don’t want to do anything, don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

He hums in sympathy. It makes something warm flicker in your chest. You can imagine the hug he’d give you if he was here - enveloping, like the world doesn’t exist, his hand cradling your head, the other on the small of your back pulling you close with just the perfect amount of force. He’d hold you until something made him let go, and then still kiss you and promise to be right back.

“I’m sorry I called,” he whispers, “I just got worried.”

“No, I don’t mind you,” you reassure him even as every word drains more energy out of your already exhausted body, “You don’t count.”

“Why thank you,” you hear the smile in his voice. It’s natural for you to smile as well without thinking, if only you had the energy too. Regret wells up in your chest, even though Jun won’t know about this little turmoil. “Have you eaten?”

Your heart pauses for a beat. The answer is clear, but what was the last thing you ate, actually? Probably just instant noodles or something like that. Better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it.

“...no,” you admit quietly. You curl under the blanket. He might get disappointed and worried but he won’t yell at you, you know that, yet it still feels uncomfortable. The silence drags on and leaves you suspended in anxiety. You beg him to talk inside your head, to say anything - to snap at you, anything will do. Just not the silence.

“y/n, it’s so late…” he says and you know he’s not scolding you, that he’s as gentle as he can be, but it still sounds like you’re getting scolded.

“I know,” you murmur, “I’m not hungry though.”

It’s an understatement. The idea of eating itself makes your stomach churn. And maybe it’s hunger in disguise, maybe. Most likely. You know you should eat. Food feels repulsive, though.

“You need to eat,” he insists, quietly, still gentle. You can hear the change in his voice when he adds: “I’ve been busy a lot, huh?”

“Jun…” you shake your head, “It’s not your fault. I need to take care of myself.”

“I want to be there for you when you’re not feeling well,” there’s a moment where his voice gets higher. You can imagine the lightbulb appearing above his head and it makes you slightly concerned. “I’m gonna help.”

“Wait, no-”

“Shh, no arguing,” he shushes you. You can hear his voice get more distant. “I’ll order you some food. A lot of it. So you can choose.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna see anyone. Please. I promise I’ll eat later, just not now,” you try to change his mind. It’s pointless, you’re well aware that Jun is the most stubborn when your wellbeing is concerned. The silence on the other end of the line, occasionally broken by tapping noises as your boyfriend’s fingers dance across the screen, tells you resistance is hopeless. Still you try.

“I don’t want to go anywhere to pick up the food. I won’t even go downstairs,” you warn him,

“I won’t pick up the phone if anyone calls. I won’t talk to anyone,” you sulk.

“Jun, please forget about it-”

“Will you cook?” he interrupts you, a slight edge to his voice. You shrivel under the blanket.

“No but-”

“Are there any leftovers you can heat up?”

“No, Jun-”

“Don’t ‘no Jun’ me,” he sighs, “I’m gonna figure this out, okay? Don’t worry.”

Before you can ask for an explanation, beg him to let it go, anything, he hangs up. You groan and pull at your hair. It’s pointless to argue with Jun, however, and although you’re frustrated you know you can trust him. So you return to numbly lying on bed.

It’s some time later that you’re woken up - from sleep or daydreaming, you have no idea - by a text. You frown and pick up the phone, already annoyed. Who dares to bother you now?

Joshua: hey i’m downstairs so don’t get creeped out when i come in with the food

Joshua: if you're awake

Joshua: if not - sorry! ><

…what?

You don’t have much time to process what’s happening before you hear the code being put in and the doors opening. You’re tempted to pretend you’re not home but also what the fuck is he doing here? Taking a quick look at Jun’s messy hoodie and sweats you’re wearing, you ultimately decide that it’s not your fault Joshua’s going to see you like this. He came in uninvited. So much for not talking to anyone. You get up and groggily walk out of the room and look for the intruder.

You find him in the kitchen… putting food containers on the table?

“Hey,” he greets you softly with a friendly smile without pausing his actions.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, confusion written all over your face. Your arms are wrapped around your body protectively. Joshua doesn’t even look at you as he meticulously takes everything out of the bag.

“That’s my line. You should be in bed” he chuckles. Finally he looks up and upon seeing you don’t get the situation at all, he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Jun said you’re not feeling well,” he explains, “So he asked if anyone could bring you food while you rest. Are you okay to eat now or should I put it in the fridge?”

You stop yourself from screaming aloud. And sighing. And hitting your head against the wall.

“Thank you,” you say instead, “It really wasn’t necessary.”

“No problem,” Joshua smiles at you again, “So?”

“I’ll eat in a bit,” you decide, relaxing slightly. You don’t feel like eating if you’re being honest but you also think the nausea starting to kick in is caused by hunger at this point. You should make yourself eat. Somehow.

“Okay. Do you need anything else? Medicine, dessert?” he jokes and you roll your eyes at him even though the target should really be Junhui.  

“I’m fine, thank you,” you try to smile at him despite your irritated mood. You make a mental note to thank Joshua again and apologize later because he leaves as quickly as he came. You should also talk to your boyfriend about using his friends as couriers.

Speaking of which…

Your phone rings again the moment you sit down and angrily stab the utensil into the closest container. You really can’t be bothered to use dishes that you’d have to wash later.

You accept the call and put your boyfriend on speaker.

“Hi… Joshua texted me he dropped off the food?” Jun sounds timid, careful almost.

“Yeah, he did,” you play with the food without raising any to your lips, “I hope you paid him.”

“No, but I owe him one,” he chuckles, still tense, “You know how he is.”

You hum. You do. But that still doesn’t mean your boyfriend should take advantage of his friend’s kindness to bring you food when he’s too busy. It’s not like any of them ever have too much time on their hands to be doing this.

“I… I just thought it would be okay this way,” his voice softens, “That you could avoid social interaction but still get the food delivered. I told Shua to leave you alone.”

You hum again. Not that you mind talking to Jun, he’s always the only exception, but you’re tired. And hungry, yet the idea of picking up the food, chewing, swallowing just seems so exhausting.

“I’m sorry,” Jun’s voice drops into a whisper, “But you need to eat.”

“I know,” you murmur, “And thank you. It’s just I really don’t feel like it even though I’m so hungry right now.”

It’s quiet on the other side for a moment, and then you hear him talking away from the phone - asking Soonyoung for a short break. You can’t hear what the response is but the next thing you hear is the door closing and Jun’s fast steps.

“What happened?” you ask, smiling a little as you imagine your boyfriend speeding through the corridors.

“I’ll facetime you in a bit, yeah? We can eat together,” his voice is full of determination and confidence that you don’t share.

“You’re going to eat in the middle of practice?” your eyebrow raises on its own.

“...Yes.”

There’s another slight pause.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” you chuckle. You still haven’t found the will to take a bite. Sharing a meal with Jun sounds nice, though. It’s highly unlikely it’s actually going to help with the predicament you’re in but the idea really is nice.

“You don’t have to eat much, I won’t either,” he coaxes you softly. You hear more doors opening and closing. Then something that sounds like a fridge and him rummaging around. “Just eat something, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you promise.

“I’ll turn on the camera now,” Jun warns while he, at least judging by the sound, puts the food in the microwave. 

You just admire his pretty face while he waits for the food to warm up and try to push down the nausea. It’s hunger, it must be. But it does nothing to help you feel like eating. Your boyfriend yaps on about his day so far, about the practice, whines a little about how hard the new choreo is. It’s soothing, comforting. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t help much.

New wave of guilt washes over you when he sits down with his food and looks at you hopefully. You need to eat. You really need to. If for no other reason, then at least so that he doesn’t worry and can fully focus on the practice.

Finally you force your hands to move, your lips to open and your jaws to chew the first bite. Jun’s bright smile feels much better than the food you swallow.

“There we go,” he whispers to himself, trying to bite back the smile as he digs into his own lunch. You hear it anyway.

You smile a little too as you fight against your head to share a meal with him.